Lies Become Truth
by RealFunkyTown
Summary: An attack by a gang of demons freshly freed from hell, leaves Dean unable to lie, at the top of FBI’s most wanted list and soon forced into an experimental psyche program. Meanwhile Sam and Bobby are left to unravel the full extent of the demons’ plans.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story contains spoilers through 'Jus in Bello'. It is set early Season 3, just after 'The Magnificent Seven', and assumes that Sam and Dean have their anti-demon possession tattoos by that point.

A million and one thanks to the wonderful DontKnowMyName for her incredible beta reading work.

* * *

_Camden, New Jersey_

Dean stepped out of the car and looked guardedly around the dimly lit parking lot. As far as he was concerned they had driven around this city enough to see that they should just keep right on driving.

Instead he had stupidly let Sam talk him into parking his pride and joy here - in the middle of the parking lot from hell. This place was a freakin' nightmare. The lot was boxed in on both sides by walls that had so much graffiti covering them there was no telling what color they had originally been painted.

Of course it wasn't the walls he was worried about. There were several shady groups of guys just standing around in the shadows doing nothing good. One of the closer groups met his suspicious glare and looked to be equally sizing him and Sam up. Discreetly he slipped his pistol beneath his jacket. He should never have let Sam talk him into coming here. Cities sucked.

Here they didn't just have demons to worry about, but people. As much as he hated demons, humans were harder to deal with. It wasn't like he couldn't physically take down an average joe all the faster than he could one possessed by a demon. It was just that you didn't get to go around shooting people for being morons.

Like the guys that were eyeing his car right now. If it wasn't so likely that they were just humans he would have taken them down already. They might still get lucky.

While he denied Sam's accusations to the fullest, truth be told his trigger finger was a little itchier than usual lately. Some jerks deserved it and with the hell fire nipping his heels it wasn't like he was sweating the possibility of damnation. He might as well take some worthy scumbags down with him.

"Dean?"

Forgetting about the human creeps he looked over the car to his brother who was watching him with concerned eyes. Sam practically had worry permanently tattooed on his face these days. It wasn't that Dean blamed him. Roles reversed...well, he'd never let that happen. He just wanted Sam to stop worrying and get that this was what it was. And it wasn't all bad.

Since he'd been four years old, Dean had never been sure on any given night whether he would live to see the next sunrise. That was life. But now it was easier. He was practically guaranteed a solid year and after that he was done.

No more fighting. No more anything. Sure, hell didn't sound like a walk in the park, but how much worse could it really be than this world? Honestly a big part of him latched onto the idea that hell wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

The only thing stopping him from enjoying this last year was the one thing that could make it a blast. Sammy. His brother was stuck on the notion that by selling out his soul he'd done the same thing to Sam as Dad had done to him. But it just wasn't like that. If Sam was too dense to get it then there was no point in explaining any of the rest to him.

Dean looked around once more, with his hand still set protectively on the roof of his car. "I say we let the demons have this place."

"Dean..."

"I'm just saying...." But now Sam was giving him that 'don't be a baby' look that somehow simultaneously managed to come off as both totally placating and comforting. "Fine. But if someone tags my car...dude, if they just keep looking at it funny - I'm shooting first and asking questions never."

"I think they're looking at you, not the car," Sam replied with a barely concealed smirk.

"I take it back. I'm going to shoot you first."

"Relax, Dean. You're dressed like a federal agent. They're not going to screw with your car."

It showed how little Sam knew. If Dean was those guys he'd loved to screw with a fed's car. Hell, even as himself he'd love to screw with a fed's car. Especially one particular fed. A little thank you for the major pain in the ass they didn't need while they were trying to save this sorry world. Not that it was right taking a man's frustration out on an innocent car.

"Actually I'm dressed like a freakin' loser," he grumbled as he tugged at the too tight collar of the dress shirt. The collar was actually loose but it felt suffocating all the same.

"You look fine," Sam assured him with a freaky ease.

Dean shot him a look and snorted. "Gee, that means the world to me, Sammy. You know I try to look my best for you."

"Yeah...okay. But seriously, Dean, it's the police, not the criminals we need to be looking out for," Sam replied like that was some sort of sick comfort.

"You're telling me." He still wasn't buying it. Not when it came to his car anyway. "The police aren't going to smash my baby's windows in."

"I can go work this case myself if you two need some time alone out here..."

"Shut up."

Finally Dean gave in and pushed the car door shut. Before following Sam he looked back to the guys that were watching him from the street corner. He sent them a lethal warning look and flashed them a glint from his pistol before he was suddenly yanked back by the scruff of his suit jacket.

"You're such an idiot!" Sam growled.

Dean twisted out of his brother's grip and hit at him when he tried to grab his arm. Here he was trying to prove that he wasn't one to screw with and he had his little brother yanking him around like he was his mother.

"Dude, I'm marking my territory here."

"Well, if you're done pissing on the parking lot can we at least get inside the bar before you start a shootout?"

"Whatever. This is still all kinds of stupid."

"Then it should be perfect for you."

But girly Sam must have thought that had come out too harsh because his brother stopped walking and looked back at him like he was sorry. Sorry for what? They were brothers. It was their job to insult each other mercilessly. It was part of the fun and Dean wanted to have fun.

Instead he had Sam being all weirdly careful with him, trying to draw out a therapy session every other day, trying so damn hard to make him happy and to fix his whole little damnation problem. What Sam couldn't work through his thick skull was that Dean didn't want any of that. All he wanted was Sam alive and well. That was it.

It was his job to take care of his little brother as long as he was still alive and kicking. He didn't want Sam to feel like he had to take care of him too. That wasn't how it worked.

All Sam had to do was be Sam. Not the worried brother that talked to him like he was afraid he was going to break or who was mourning him like he was already burning down under. Dean just wanted to have a little fun and kick some serious demon ass before he died. And he wanted to do it with his brother fully present and playing along.

"Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled as he waved Sam off. "Sign me up for bucket loads of crazy stupid. Really. But I'm just thinking if we let loose two hundred odd demons there have to be a few hanging out somewhere that isn't going to get my car trashed."

That got a weary sigh out of Sam, which he liked. It meant Sam was getting annoyed and annoyed Sam meant less unnecessarily worried Sam. He knew his brother wanted to tell him that he was going to hell, forget the damn car, but his brother had enough sense to keep that commentary to himself.

"Look, Dean, you're the one that wanted to focus on hunting the demons and Bobby says that the signs point to this place being a serious hotbed. So let's just focus, okay?"

"Sure. I'm totally focused. Undivided attention," he assured Sam.

He surrendered for the moment because he really wanted a drink, a decent game of something involving bets and a woman that wasn't charging for some quality time. It was a lot to ask of this dump, but he was holding out hope that he'd be pleasantly surprised.

As soon as they walked through the door all eyes were on them. Why wouldn't they be? They were the only freaks in this place wearing cheap knock off designer suits. He'd tried to talk Sam out of the whole federal agent crap for this one, mostly because he didn't want to spend any more of his precious remaining days in one of these stupid monkey suits.

But Sam had been insistent that no one around here was going to talk willingly even though Dean had argued the exact opposite – no one here was going to talk to a fed. In the end Sam had won. It was mostly because Sam had pouted and Dean could at best hold out against those big, sad puppy dog eyes for a whopping fifteen seconds before caving.

While they moved towards the bar Dean's eyes were busy scanning the joint. Annoying humans aside, they had no clue where these demons were hanging out. The last bar they had walked in on hadn't exactly gone well and it was just as likely here that any one of these guys could be a demon. That was true any day of the week, but more so now than usual.

Satisfied that they weren't going to get jumped right away, Dean flashed his badge to the bartender. "I'm Agent Walsh. This is Agent Ehart," he said with a motion towards Sam. "You the owner?"

"I am..." the man responded suspiciously. "What's the FBI doing here?"

"We need to ask you a couple questions," Sam told the man. "We're investigating a series of murders in the area."

"Which ones?"

"The ones that were all regulars here," Dean replied with far less patience than Sam had used. He got a sharp jolt in the side from Sam's elbow for it. So far he hadn't pulled his gun on the guy. Dean thought he ought to get a medal, not be criticized.

"I've got a lot of patrons here, pal. I don't ask questions and I don't like anyone else asking them either."

"We'll try to make this as painless as possible," Dean told him in a tone that would be more to Sam's liking. "If you could just..."

Dean forgot about the bartender when he noticed that a guy a few barstools down was watching him way too closely. It wasn't the kind of watching you'd expect from a nosey bystander, but a staring like the guy had something to say.

He looked to the man and raised his brow questioningly at him. For a moment he expected the man's eyes to flicker to black but instead they just narrowed as the older man looked him over.

"You look familiar, son," the man finally said.

"Yeah, I got one of those faces."

It was an easy answer for someone who really didn't want to be recognized, but Dean knew it wasn't true. He'd never honestly had someone mistake him for anyone else. He was one of a kind and though Sam wouldn't say it exactly like that, he could tell by the wary expression that Sam sent him that his brother was thinking the same thing. Dean shrugged it off.

"So about these victims," he continued to the bartender. "If you could take a look at these photos and tell us if you recognize any of these guys."

Dean pulled a pile of folded printouts from his suit pocket and laid them on the bar in front of the man. Luckily for the bartender the guy did actually take a look at them. Not that he had a helpful answer to go with the look.

"I've seen them around. They drink, they pay and they leave. Haven't seen them the last few days. Guess I know why now."

"And you haven't seen anyone around here acting...weird."

"'Weird'?"

"Strangely out of character," Sam clarified.

The bartender leaned slightly towards them and lowered his voice. "People come here to get drunk and between you and me, Agents, plenty of them are strung out on a lot more than alcohol. Not my stuff. It just comes with the neighborhood. If you're looking for unusual behavior, you've come to the right place, but I run an honest establishment and beyond that I can't help you."

"Well, thanks," Sam replied before Dean could get another comment off. "We'll just take a look around and let you know if we have any further questions."

"I'll be on the edge of my seat," the bartender deadpanned before returning to his customers.

Dean began to raise his hand to order something himself, but Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the bar. He shook his brother off with a glare. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"Dean, that guy recognizes you," Sam replied quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean casually glanced back to the guy at the bar and shook his head. Dean knew that the guy at least thought that he recognized him, but he wasn't going to feed into Sam's paranoia.

"No he didn't. Even if we didn't look like stupid ass cars salesmen in these getups, we're the only Wonder Bread looking dudes in this place. We don't exactly blend in. Besides, who wouldn't want to look at me? Check me out, I'm totally awesome."

As cocky as he hoped he came off sounding, in part he was just trying to convince himself of what he was saying and mostly he was just trying to convince Sam that he was okay. His fake smirk turned sincere when Sam just rolled his eyes. Finally. He wanted Sam to see him as just his normal, annoying brother and not as the dead man walking they both knew he was.

"Sure, Dean," Sam groaned in reply. "You're so totally awesome I can't keep my eyes off you."

That was true. Unfortunately. Sam was watching him like a damn hawk. He wasn't sure if his brother was waiting for him to start crying or to slit his wrists or what the hell he thought was going to happen, but he didn't need a babysitter. He needed his brother.

Without saying anything else Dean led Sam to a table in the back corner of the bar where they had a clear view of the whole place, but were out of sight of the guy at the bar.

"Two beers," Dean told a waitress as she walked by.

Sam just stood next to the table gaping with his mouth open as Dean settled down into a chair. "Seriously," he hissed at Sam. "What's your problem, dude?"

"We're not staying."

"Uh...yeah we are. You dragged me to this craphole because this place is supposed to be crawling with demons. With the string of ritualistic deaths surrounding this place I'd say we're right where we need to be. Thanks, sweetheart," Dean told the waitress with a flashy grin as she set down their beers.

"No problem, sugar."

He grabbed the bottle and took a well-deserved long swig before he looked back up at Sam. His brother needed to sit down and relax before he strained something in that overworked brain of his. Just because they were looking for demons freshly sprung from hell didn't mean that it had to be all work and no play.

"Oh come on! Will you forget about that guy?" Dean asked as Sam looked back to the bar. "I guarantee he thinks you want to sink it in him with all those longing looks you're sending him. Hell, I'm starting to wonder. Sit down already before I drink your beer."

Sam still looked uneasy but finally took the seat next to him. They sat side by side with their backs to the wall so that they were facing out onto the bar. The bartender hadn't been wrong.

Most of the people here looked suspicious enough to be considered possible demons. Really the guy at the bar and his apparent friend he was chatting with, were the only ones that didn't look suspicious. Of course that alone made them look out of place. Just not out of place enough to be his concern.

Already bored of watching the crowd, Dean dug out his wallet. He flipped through the most recent stash of cards before pulling out the newest. Taking out his cell he dialed the number on the card's activation sticker.

"Name is Roy Vanderford...yep, that's me. Last four of the social is 8149. No I'm good. Really."

Dean moved his hand in a talking motion to Sam as the Indian guy on the other end of the line droned on and on about the latest card security features. If the poor sucker had any idea....

"Yeah, great. Thanks."

Dean peeled the sticker off and slid the card over to Sam. "Plenty of room for Pay-Per-View," he assured his brother.

But Sam was in full douchebag mode and obviously hadn't heard a word he'd said. Dean decided to test just how much his brother wasn't paying attention to him.

"Or you and that guy could go rent a room by the hour," Dean added.

No reaction. There wasn't going to be any fun to be had sitting around this table. He took another gulp of beer before pushing his chair back and standing. Sam looked around for an emergency before finally looking to him.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some spending cash," he said with a nod towards the active pool table on the other side of the bar.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to do something stupid to draw attention to yourself."

"No, I'm not. I'm just going to go have a little fun, and dude, you're not any fun right now. Chill out. This place is practically the murder capitol of the planet."

Sam wrinkled his face and looked at him like he was nuts. "How is that comforting?"

"Cops all have their hands full. No one's going to be bored enough to look for me and if the demons want some they can come and get it."

"That's great, Dean. If you got those two options so well planned out then maybe we can go for getting shot in the middle of a gang war instead."

"Or maybe we could get lucky and draw out these demons for a demon war," Dean shot back. "Either way, at least it would be something."

Same crap, different day. Humans or demons, it was all ugly and it was all going to end bloody. That's why he full well intended to live it up while they waited for the crap to hit the fan. It was either that or sit around and cry while he waited to die. As much as a group hug and pity session would be Sam's choice, it wasn't his.

"At least I can pimp you out for spending cash if I lose." Sam just glared, which made Dean chuckle. "Don't worry, Sammy, I won't lose."

Dean didn't make it all the way to the table before he felt eyes again on him. He glanced in the direction of the stare and found a girl that looked younger than him, but not by too much. She looked legal anyway. And totally hot.

The pretty little thing was watching him over her beer. He gave another look over the other people in the bar. It was beyond him how he'd missed seeing this girl when he'd first checked out the crowd.

Maybe some guy had been blocking his view of her. She really didn't look like the type to come to a place like this alone. Yet when his eyes met hers she brushed her long, black, wavy hair over her shoulder clearing up the view of her low cut top.

Diverging from his path to the pool tables, he made a beeline for the poor lonely girl that might just be in need of some rescuing. It's what he did after all – help people. He smirked to himself before turning on his full, charm oozing smile.

He gauged her reaction carefully as he moved in to make sure that she wasn't just waiting for her boyfriend to get back to the table. But she spoke first so he couldn't be held liable for anything that followed. He was all hers as long as she didn't ask for a credit card number.

"Hey," she said with a smile of her own. "So federal agent, huh? Boy, did you walk into the wrong bar. This place is a total loss."

"I don't know...it's got you," he replied easily. "You know, I'm off duty…"

"Maria."

"Hey, Maria, I'm Dean. Maybe after I play a quick game here you could tell me all about your concerns regarding the city."

"I'll be here," she assured him.

He would have forgotten about the pool and gotten to her first, but there was a lot of money flying around that table and he was seeing a big opportunity to clean up there that he couldn't resist.

Striding over to the group of guys that each likely had at least fifty pounds on him didn't even faze him. Wearing a stupid grin he swaggered up to the table like he might be drunk even though he was far from it.

"Man, I always wanted to try this game," he told the group that had just finished a round.

They all eyed him suspiciously until he dug a wad of cash out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. The suspicious looks turned to barely concealed mischievous smirks. Really, who didn't want to screw a fed?

"So I'm trying to hit the white ball into the hole right?"

----

By the time Dean was done playing Sam had his elbows propped up on the table to hold his head. He'd said it before and he'd say it again. There was just no way that Dean was actually related to him. They were supposed to be working not working to turn the city against them and the man at the bar and his companion were still watching Dean.

Even though he should, he couldn't bring himself to tell Dean they had to get out of here because his brother did actually look like he was having fun. If swindling a bunch of scumbags out of some cash was going to make Dean happy even just for the next two minutes then it was worth cleaning up the mess when he was done. He was just afraid that part of the 'fun' Dean was looking for involved a fight.

Sam kept a careful eye both on the men at the bar who kept whispering to each other and on the group that Dean was playing. As soon as his brother finished the round he was on Sam imagined that they were going to have to get out of here fast.

Finally Dean left the pool table with a ridiculously large victory grin on his face and sent a thumbs up to him. Sam just raised his brows and forced a smile in reply. He slipped his suit jacket back on as he thought Dean was heading back his way but his brother instead headed for the girl he had talked to on the way over to the pool table.

Sam shook his head as he watched his brother lean over the table towards her. It was funny because Dean undoubtedly thought he was playing the girl, but Sam was pretty sure it was the other way around.

He couldn't hear a thing that they were saying to each other but from the motioning the girl was doing it was obvious that she was trying to get Dean to sit down and drink the extra beer she had at the table with her. For whatever reason, Dean turned her down though he did hang around long enough to collect her phone number before walking quickly back towards Sam.

"Alright, I'm good." His brother shot a glance over his back towards the group at the pool table then nodded to him. "We should probably hit the road. Now."

Not the least bit surprised, Sam rose instantly from his chair. The group of guys Dean had just suckered looked ready for blood. They made a quick exit out the front door. While it was Sam's intention to keep a closer eye on his brother, before he realized it Dean was tearing across the parking lot.

"Hey!" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. "Get away from my car!"

"Dean!"

There were three men gathered around the back of the Impala. Two of the scruffy men were probably about matched with Dean in height but with beefier frames. The third, taller one was using a crowbar to try and pry open the trunk.

Something was seriously not right about the fact that the trunk had been the first target on the car, but Sam didn't have time to sort that out now. He had to stop his suicidal moron of a brother from getting himself killed first.

Dean had already pulled off his suit jacket and thrown it to the ground while he was sprinting. Once he reached the group Dean launched himself at the one with the crowbar, striking the man in the jaw with his fist.

By the time Sam closed in Dean was already losing the fight, which wasn't right. Even though the guy Dean was wrestling with was noticeably bigger than him, it wasn't like his brother was the average fighter.

The man Dean had tackled now had him pinned against the concrete and was pressing the crowbar down against his throat. His brother eyes were wide as he struggled for air. Dean threw another punch that connected hard, but didn't shake the man. In less than a second Sam had skidded into the fight. It was way too late to try to talk anyone down.

He didn't hesitate to send a solid kick up into the gut of the man that was crushing his brother's windpipe. The man was knocked off Dean, but before Sam could move in to finish the job the other two shorter guys came up from behind and grabbed him.

They wrenched his arms painfully hard behind his back. He twisted against their grip, using all his strength to try to throw them off, but they were a hell of a lot stronger than they looked. Despite his struggles he could do nothing but watch as Dean staggered to his feet still gasping for air.

By the time Dean was upright he had the crowbar gripped in his hand, but he still looked unfocused. Sam knew full well that Dean hadn't thought any of this through before he'd thrown himself into it. What really had him worried was that the men who held him seemed less intent on fighting with him than on just keeping him out of the fight with Dean.

"Behind you, Dean!" Sam warned as a fourth figure stepped from the shadows.

Without question Dean turned towards the direction Sam had indicated, but the other person, this one a young woman, moved in faster than Dean could spin. From behind, her arms latched out and grabbed Dean. The strength with which she pulled his brother back confirmed his fear that these weren't humans they were fighting.

As Sam watched the arms constricted around his brother's chest, Dean drew his elbow back and jammed it into the woman's ribs. He kicked back at her shin and managed to knock loose of her grip. The second he was free Dean pulled back the crowbar, but he stopped mid swing when he saw who was behind him.

It was only half a moment's hesitation, but it was a moment too long. Sam realized that Dean hadn't known it was a girl behind him. He should have warned Dean ahead of time, but it was too late now.

"What the..."

Dean didn't even have time to finish his exclamation before the girl lifted her hand and Dean was propelled back against a van. There was a nauseating thud as Dean's body impacted the sheet metal before sliding to the ground.

Sam kicked his leg back, sweeping the foot of the man on his right out from underneath him. With the smaller man unbalanced Sam's arm was free to throw a nose shattering follow-up punch that momentarily took the man down. Turning to the other man he kicked out and caught the heavier man in the gut, knocking him back.

He made it half way to Dean before he was also thrust off his feet. The wind was knocked out of him and he found himself pinned back over the trunk of the Impala. He only had enough freedom of movement to turn his head so that he could see his brother. Helplessly he watched as Dean slowly rolled onto his side, obviously disoriented.

His brother was still struggling to stand even with the support of the van behind him by the time the girl and two men that Sam had thrown off himself were looming over Dean. Sam jerked uselessly against the invisible force that held him as the original guy that Dean had stolen the crowbar from shot him a malicious grin. Without any other acknowledgement the man walked over to join the other three.

The group had Dean surrounded on the front and sides and backed against the van. From where he was pinned Sam couldn't begin to get a clear read on how injured Dean was or wasn't. No matter how badly he was hurt Dean would be trying to play it down.

Sam also couldn't tell what was going on because the group of four demons was just standing around his brother. While he couldn't tell what they were waiting for he was afraid from the look he'd seen on the face of the one that had passed him that they were here for the same reason Dean was. They were hoping to have some fun. Sam's stomach twisted.

This was one of the most blatant attacks he had ever seen these things pull. There wasn't anything isolated about where they were. It was dark and no one savory was on the streets now, but there were streetlights and savory or not, there was a decent amount of traffic on the street. If the demons were pulling this with so many potential witnesses it had to be a whole new level of bad. Or maybe they just knew like Sam that no one here was going to come to their rescue.

He caught Dean's eyes as his brother looked past the demons toward him. There was a concealed panic in Dean's tensed features that the demons probably wouldn't pick up on but that screamed to Sam loud and clear. There was no question that Dean had come to the same realization of just how screwed they were.

What really got Sam was that he could see what Dean was doing by the directions his eyes were darting. Dean wasn't looking for a way to get himself out; Dean was trying to figure out how to get him out. He wanted to yell at Dean to focus on saving himself first, but it wouldn't do any good.

The panic swelled in him as he realized that no matter what the demons planned to do, he couldn't do a damn thing to stop them. One of them leaned in towards his brother and whispered something in Dean's ear. Sam didn't know what was said but he saw how quickly Dean's eyes flashed from anxious to pure fury. His own panic too turned to rage as he heard the demons snickering at the scarcely hidden hurt in his brother's eyes.

Dean surged forward swinging the crowbar full force at the head of the taller demon, but it was grabbed mid swing and twisted from his grip. As soon as it had the crowbar in hand the demon drove its knee up into Dean's abdomen.

As Sam watched Dean double over he wanted nothing more than the Colt in working order, but instead he could only watch powerlessly as the demon brought the crowbar down with a crack across Dean's shoulders sending his brother sinking to his knees.

"No!" Sam shouted out uselessly.

One of the shorter ones kicked a foot out, but this time Dean was the one to make the interception. His brother latched onto the booted foot as it contacted his side, using it to yank the man to the ground.

Dean had always been able to figure out how to make the best of a bad situation, but even if these were only humans there were too many of them for Dean to take alone. Together they could do it no problem, but the demons obviously knew that.

What they probably didn't know was that just because Dean couldn't win, didn't mean that his brother wouldn't fight like hell. In one sweeping movement, Dean reached around his back, pulled out his gun and fired two shots. The bullets hit both of the men that were still standing, but before another shot could be cocked to leave the chamber the girl swept her hand and sent the gun clattering out of Dean's reach under a nearby car.

Sam grimaced as she shoved Dean back into the van. His brother barely had his eyes open again before she pulled back her fist and slugged him, snapping his head to the side. Trying to shake it off, Dean didn't seem to wait to gain his bearings before cocking back his own fist.

The woman grabbed it easily in what must have been a crushing grip. Sam used every bit of strength he had to try to slip free of his paralysis as he heard the yelp of pain that Dean had been unable to bite back.

Before Dean could make another move the woman used her free hand to clamp onto his forehead. She held her hand there for a strangely long moment as she just stared into Dean's eyes.

They both looked far too still. Then in a burst of movement the demon thrust Dean's head back against the side of the van with a resonating thud. The sound made Sam want to be sick. Dean's arm fell limp to his side as his entire body crumpled the rest of the way to the ground.

"Dean!"

While Sam willed his brother to get up this time Dean lay still on the pavement where the girl had let him fall. Casually the thing kneeled down over his brother. She reached into the coat pocket of one of the fallen men and removed a small case. It wasn't until she shifted positions that Sam could see that she had pulled a syringe from the case.

"Get away from him," Sam warned before his tone fell into desperation. "He's not the one you want!"

But the girl didn't even seem to notice that he was there anymore. She rolled Dean onto his back and pushed his head to the side, exposing his neck. Absently she ran her fingers down his jugular before inserting the needle and pumping the contents of the syringe into his brother. Sam was too stunned to say anything else as he struggled to keep his breath steady. As soon as she came near him she was going to regret ever having touched his brother.

Instead of moving towards him, she just stood and turned to look at him. She smiled sweetly though the hateful glint in her eyes marred any beauty that might have otherwise been on her face. Still, it was then that he really saw her features in full and realized why Dean had stopped fighting so suddenly when he'd seen her. It wasn't just because she was a girl. It was the girl Dean had been flirting with in the bar.

"This would have been so much easier on you two if Romeo had just stayed for that drink he'd promised," she told Sam.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but his attention was drawn away from her statement as all four of the demons suddenly exploded from the bodies they had been riding. The girl collapsed to the ground and the pressure holding Sam down was instantly released.

He immediately pushed himself up off the trunk and ran to close the distance between him and his unconscious brother. At least he prayed like hell that he was just unconscious. He jumped over the bodies surrounding Dean and dropped to his knees next to him.

Gently he lifted Dean's head into his hands, breathing a small sigh of relief when he couldn't find any notable quantities of blood there. At least it seemed that Dean's skull hadn't actually been fractured, not that it meant that plenty else wasn't wrong.

"Dean? Come on, man. Wake up."

His brother was alive, but he was out cold. Sam forced his shaky hand to remain steady as he pulled out the syringe that the demon hadn't bothered to remove from Dean's neck. He grabbed the case the girl had dropped and put the syringe back into it before slipping it into his jacket pocket. Right now he didn't have time to figure out what they had put in Dean.

Everyone in the area might have found it convenient to pretend that they hadn't noticed his brother nearly getting killed by these things, but they had unquestionably heard the gunfire. And now the girl next to him was starting to scream at the top of her lungs as she and the other man that Dean had just knocked out stumbled to their feet awaking next to two dead bodies lying in a growing pool of blood.

He didn't have time to deal with them either. Lacking any other options, Sam reached down and dug the keys to the Impala from Dean's pant pocket. He hauled his brother up enough so that he could crouch down and get Dean's body slung over his shoulder. With a grunt he rose to his feet hoping that he wasn't making any of Dean's injuries worse.

"No more cheeseburgers for breakfast," Sam grumbled as he hauled his brother's bulk back over to the Impala.

Leaning against the car he fumbled to get the key into the lock before having to shove Dean's body unceremoniously onto the back seat. Two men had just come running from the bar and while this was no time for 'I told you so' one of them was the man who'd had his eyes glued on Dean while they had been inside.

"Police!" the man yelled towards them as he and his partner reached for their weapons. "On the ground now!"

Sam didn't wait for the apparent undercover cops to get their guns drawn. Instead he reached through to unlock the driver's side door. He slammed the back door shut and jumped into the driver's seat. Already he heard the sound of sirens closing in. The officers inside the bar must have called for reinforcements during the fight. Help was coming all right, but it wasn't for them.

As soon as the Impala's engine roared to life Sam pushed the gas pedal practically to the floor. Turning the wheel as fast as he could, he just managed to avoid hitting anyone or anything as the old Chevy squealed from the parking lot before the officers got a shot off.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam drove as long as he could force himself to while cursing Dean's love affair with this damn car. It would be so much easier if he could just dump the thing somewhere. It wasn't exactly inconspicuous. As much as it might make things slightly less complicated in the short run, he knew if he did abandon it he might as well slit his own throat.

It wasn't even about what Dean would do to him; it was what it would do to Dean. This stupid car was one of the only things Dean had been able to hold onto. He knew Dean didn't think he got that, but he got a lot more about Dean than his brother thought.

It didn't matter if he had to keep driving all the way to Alaska and then load the car onto a boat to China. The Impala wasn't going anywhere. And neither was Dean.

Anxiously Sam glanced over to the rearview mirror. He had been winding around back streets, driving in circles for all he knew, but the street behind him was clear so he had to be doing something right. This time though he wasn't looking to see if he was being followed, but was checking on his still silent brother.

Dean remained slumped haphazardly on the back seat. The jostling of the car driving down the road didn't allow Sam the comfort of being able to make out the movement of Dean's chest, but his brother was going to be fine. He had to be. That was the only option Sam was accepting.

That was the only certainty in his mind as he struggled to concoct a plan. At this point he wasn't even sure where they were let alone where he was planning on going. All he knew was that staying hadn't been an option. There was no way he could have risked the police separating them when he didn't even know what Dean's condition was.

Of course he likely would have ran even if nothing had happened to Dean. If his brother ended up locked in an interrogation room, or worse, it would end bloody for all involved. Dean was walking a scary fine line lately. Sam knew it was because his brother thought there was nothing left to lose, but that just wasn't true.

As for the cops, they were just trying to do their job. There was no way that they could understand that they were trying to protect the world from the guys that were struggling to save it. Knowing that fact still didn't make the unnecessary stress of having the human law after them any easier. It was getting real old and they didn't have time for it. Dean didn't have the time.

Despite all the distance he wanted to put between them and the police, it wouldn't actually do any good unless they left the county and Dean had already made it crystal clear that he wasn't going for that. The FBI would hunt them wherever they ran in this country, but that was nothing new. Right now he just needed the distance between them and the Camden city police.

With any luck he was soon going to hit the Benjamin Franklin Bridge back over the state line into Pennsylvania. He couldn't go much further than that because unfortunately the chances were good that he was going to have to hunt down these demons to figure out what they had done to his brother. That was assuming that the demons didn't track them down first.

When he heard a pained moan come from the back seat Sam took the first possible turn off the road. He pulled into an empty loading area and killed the engine. The area was nicely isolated and lit thanks to the harsh light from the warehouse's loading gate.

He practically flew out of the car and threw open the backdoor. There was no way of knowing what to expect when Dean awoke or even if it would be Dean at all. He knew he should be taking precautions for that latter option, but if these demons had the ability to bypass their anti-possession tattoos then he couldn't imagine that they would have been screwing around with injections.

Reaching into the car, Sam carefully worked to adjust Dean's awkward position on the back seat. It looked like his brother was going to have enough trouble telling up from down without his head actually hanging upside down off the seat. His hand was still supporting Dean's head when his brother started to come to.

"Hey," Sam coaxed as Dean's ridiculously long eyelashes began to flutter.

"Sammy?" he asked groggily.

Dean's eyes were distant, as if they really weren't seeing him, but his brother remembered his name. Sort of. It was at least what Dean insisted his name was. That was a good sign anyway. Right now he couldn't have been more relieved to hear that stupid little kid nickname.

"Yeah. I gotcha, Dean."

He started to slowly help Dean into a seated position but a second later his brother jerked from his arms and scooted further into the car. Dean's glassy hazel eyes darted around wildly, but the burst of movement nearly instantly caught up with his brother.

Sam had to climb part way into the back of the car to steady Dean when his brother began tipping over again. As he grabbed Dean's arm he could feel how painfully tense the muscles were. He prayed that the sudden panic clouding his brother's features was just Dean remembering what had happened.

"Hey, you're alright, man," Sam assured him.

"Demons."

Sam shot a look behind his back just to be sure before answering. "They're gone. Just slow down, okay? You took some nasty blows to the head back there. How do you feel?"

"It hurts."

That simple phrase terrified Sam. Unhelpful sarcasm he expected, but it was clear from his brother's tone that this wasn't him being funny. It wasn't at all like Dean to admit to being hurt even when he literally had his guts hanging out. If his brother was verbally acknowledging it, then he had to be in serious pain and it wasn't like Sam could take him to a hospital anywhere near here.

"What does?"

Despite how scared he was for his brother, he forced his tone to remain calm as he spoke. Freaking out wasn't going to help Dean. He just had to figure out what was wrong and deal with it.

"My head. My back...everything," Dean closed his eyes and absently flexed his sore hand.

Sam grimaced and choked back the anger rising in him. He was going to find those demons and they were going to pay for this. But that was for later. Right now he had to take care of his brother.

He settled onto the seat beside Dean and reached his hand behind Dean's head to make sure he still couldn't find any serious quantities of blood. There was a nasty, tender lump but it wasn't anything Dean hadn't had before. Though the repeated head injuries might explain a few things... He'd have to remember to harass Dean about that later when he wasn't too worried to try to cheer Dean up.

His eyes moved to his brother's awkwardly clenched fist. It would be no surprise if Dean had a broken finger or two, but they could deal with that later. If Dean said he was hurting there had to be a serious injury that he was missing somewhere.

Dean's tolerance for Sam checking him over ended abruptly when Sam started to pull the bottom of his brother's dress shirt free from his pants. He was pushed away with far more strength than Sam would have thought Dean capable of considering how injured his brother said he was. The sudden force caught him so off guard that Sam was just barely able to catch himself to stop from falling backwards out of the car.

"Dude! Why the hell are you stripping me?"

When Sam's surprised eyes looked back at Dean he saw that the disoriented look was all but gone from his brother. Sam moved his finger in front of Dean's eyes. His brother seemed to be focusing in on him fine now and looked pissed. That irritated glare shooting at him gave Sam much needed relief.

"I'm just checking to see if anything's broken," Sam explained.

"Your head is. Leave my damn clothes on. I've been worked over enough for one night."

Despite his relief, he gave Dean a concerned look. A moment ago everything hurt and now his brother was acting completely normal. Something wasn't right here.

Dean straightened his posture on the seat and looked around. It was obvious from the way Dean was moving that everything did still hurt, it just looked like his brother had gone back to not caring. Dean still looked confused, but that was probably just because he had no idea where they were. That made two of them.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Dean. Do you feel...different?"

"I feel like some bitch tried to crush my skull in...so no. I guess there's nothing new there."

"Okay..."

Sam was far from convinced that anything was okay. He knew that Dean needed to know what had happened, but the fact was that Sam didn't even know. Obviously he was going to have to tell Dean that the demons had put something in him. It was just that he knew Dean was going to freak out royally about it and what he needed first was to make sure that Dean was physically stable.

Even if he did find that Dean was acting totally out of character there was no saying whether it was from demon injections or just a concussion. Right. Just a concussion. It was little wonder that Dean wasn't disappointed about the idea of checking out. Their lives really did suck.

As he watched Dean closely it occurred to him that most brothers didn't have to watch each other suffer on a regular basis. Brothers didn't usually have to know field medicine just to keep each other alive. They didn't usually have to worry about trying to stop their brother from going to hell for them after they did die.

But things were going to get better for his brother. He was going to make sure of that and he was going to give Dean reason to want to be here. First he had to figure out what was going on with Dean right now. While his brother had more room to stretch out on the back bench, he needed to be able to keep a closer eye on him and preferably keep him conscious.

"Come on, let's get you in the front seat."

Dean didn't make a verbal reply, but seemed to agree. Sam caught the look of pain that flashed over Dean's face as he moved across the back seat towards the door.

"Do you need help?" Sam asked.

"Probably."

Again Dean's answer scared him. Usually Dean wouldn't let him help him if he was dying, he sure never asked for help after getting beat by some demons. The weird thing was that Dean seemed to be moving okay. Everything considered at least.

Sam reached in to assist Dean only to get an annoyed look from his brother. "What're you doing?"

"Uh...helping you out of the car."

"Why?"

"Because you said you needed help."

Dean looked bewildered as if trying to recall his own words, but then waved Sam away. "Just because I need help doesn't mean I want it. Give me some room here."

With a frustrated shake of his head, Sam let his brother get out on his own, but stayed close behind him in case he collapsed. Something was seriously wrong, but Dean obviously wasn't going to make figuring out what it was easy.

---

_Dixon's Diner – Philadelphia, PA_

It had been tougher than exorcising a room full of demons, but finally Dean had convinced Sam to take him for dinner. Not that he should have to beg his little brother for food. He should also be the one driving his own car, but Sam wouldn't give him the keys back. Some crap about not wanting to die when he passed out and crashed the car.

Like that would ever happen. Maybe he'd pass out, but no way he'd crash the car. He shouldn't have to put up with this, but he didn't actually feel like wrestling the keys away from Sam right now so whatever. For some annoying reason he was completely drained.

That's why he needed to eat and it wasn't as if Sam didn't want him to. His brother was just freaking out about the cops. If Dean heard one more implied 'I told you so', he was going to forget how worn-out he was and take Sam down.

No matter how many times he had been beat over the head, he still wasn't stupid. He knew they shouldn't be hanging around in public right now, but this dumpy little diner was basically empty so he wasn't worried. And he really was starving.

His brother had seemed relieved at that since Sam was convinced he had a concussion. Dean was going to personally give Sam a concussion if his brother didn't back off. He didn't know why Sam wouldn't stop fussing over him. Sure he'd gotten kicked around and he felt like crap. Welcome to life. It wasn't anything new and he was fine. Not that this whole injection thing didn't give him the serious creeps.

"What if they're trying to turn me into a freak like you?" Dean asked as he tried to digest what Sam was telling him.

"Uh...thanks, Dean."

His brother's eyes abruptly turned from concerned to hurt. By the time Dean realized why, his own face flooded with confusion. Why the hell had he just said that out loud? Sure he'd been thinking it, but he hadn't intended to actually say it to Sam's face.

"I didn't mean to say that."

"It's fine. Let's just focus on these demons."

Sam took his words as an apology, but that's not what he meant either. Sure he was sorry, but Sam should know better than to think he was just going to sit here and admit it.

"No. I mean...I _really_ didn't mean to say that."

"Yeah, I got it. Don't worry about it."

"No, you don't get it," Dean insisted. "Sam, something's wrong with me."

"I noticed," Sam agreed far too readily.

Before he could tell Sam to can it, the young waitress came back by the table with their meals. She smiled in response to his appraising stare. There was no way that even his luck sucked bad enough that two chicks in a row were being ridden by demons. He was pretty confident about his chances here and he'd be able to prove to Sam just how okay he was.

"What time do you get off tonight, Mindy?" he asked as he read her nametag.

Mindy shook her head, but was still smiling as she set down their plates. She looked curiously between him and Sam. "So you two..."

It would be so much easier to pick up girls with his brother if Sam didn't look so much like an Amazonian version of Xena Warrior Princess. They were going to have to talk about getting that hair cut to something not gay. It would only be for a year anyway and then Sam could go all Willie Nelson for all he cared.

"Are brothers. I'm totally available, but you'd be better off with him," he said with a nod towards Sam. "I'd just sleep with you so that I could pretend someone loves me and to try to make myself forget that I'm never going to have a real family."

The cocky grin playing on his lips vanished as his own words registered. "Holy crap."

There was no way he'd just said that out loud, but both the puzzled faces staring at him confirmed that he had. The girl gave him the look he despised most of all then just smiled politely before leaving them to their meal. Once her back was turned he sneered after her. She could take her pity and shove it.

After she was gone he stared at his burger and fries, determinedly ignoring the fact that Sam's eyes were trying to bore holes through him. His brother was waiting for some kind of explanation. He'd give one if he had one. Right now he was fresh out of anything to say.

"Aside from being the world's suckiest pickup line, what the hell was that?" Sam finally asked.

"The truth."

He gritted his jaw as soon as the words came out. He hadn't planned on answering at all, but obviously his mouth had plans of its own. Dean rubbed his hands over his eyes. He didn't know what was going on, but he was ready to gag himself.

"Told you...there's something wrong with me. Those damn demons broke my freakin' edit button."

Sam chuckled at first, but as he stared at him his expression turned to disbelief. "No." His brother shook his head. "No way."

"What?" Dean asked indignantly.

"That can't be the truth. You don't really..."

Dean's hand shot up to cut him off. "Don't even," he warned. "Don't you dare touch it."

He didn't know what was wrong with him, but there was no way in hell he was going to sit here and indulge Sam in his long awaited therapy session. While he didn't have a gag on hand, he did have a heaping pile of french fries. He quickly began stuffing them into his mouth in quantity. Tonight couldn't get any worse.

---

Dinner had been awkward to say the least. Dean was convinced that the demons had injected him with some kind of truth serum, which made about as much sense as anything only because none of this made any sense. Now Dean was refusing to say anything at all and that was making Sam's job of checking that Dean was still awake ten times harder than it needed to be.

Dean didn't actually tend to sleep that much. He liked to sleep in but that was mostly because he stayed up all night. These days it didn't seem that Dean was sleeping much at all so the fact that Dean kept nodding off had him all the more worried.

Sam glanced over to his brother and saw that Dean's head had fallen to the side. Reaching over he nudged Dean's shoulder again. He glanced anxiously over at his brother when he didn't get any reaction to the jolt.

"Hey, Dean." He shoved him again and got nothing. "Dean!"

"Stop freakin' yelling in my ear, man!" Dean shouted back as he shot up in the car seat.

"You okay?"

"No! Dude, I'm so far from okay."

"Sorry."

He looked over to Dean, but his brother's eyes were fixed out the window on the passing streets. It wasn't that he was sorry for waking Dean up. He was sorry any of this had happened. Sam was trying so hard to protect his brother from hell and he couldn't even protect him here on earth.

"Not your fault."

Sam had to stop himself from asking what Dean meant. He was pretty sure that Dean was going to pull out his gun and shoot one or both of them if he asked anything else. At least they had finally found a motel. It was about as trashy as they came, but they weren't in a position to be picky. He just hoped they were far enough out of range of the police for now.

He knew he should leave Dean in the car so they weren't seen together, but he couldn't just leave Dean alone right now. Not only was he not buying Dean's truth serum conclusion, but they also didn't know if they had been followed by the demons.

There was no way that Dean could defend himself if they tried to move in on him now. Not that he dared to say as much to Dean. His brother would probably just tell him to prop him up with a shot gun or some macho crap. Leaving Dean alone was definitely out of the question.

After stepping out of the car he poked his head back in and nodded to Dean. "Let's go check in."

Dean glared at him and resolutely crossed his arms over his chest. "No thanks. I can baby sit myself for two minutes."

"I know. I just think we should stay together for now."

"Right. Because you being there was so helpful last time."

Sam couldn't keep the scowl from his face. Dean wasn't wrong. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to you."

Dean's eyes softened, but he shook his head. "You can't stop it."

Sam wasn't sure whether Dean was just referring to the demons or the bigger picture, but it didn't matter. Whether it was hell or demons, he was going to figure out what was happening and he wasn't letting anyone else touch Dean. He walked over to the passenger side of the car and pulled open the door before staring down expectantly at his stubborn brother.

"Dean, get out of the car."

His tone made it more than clear that he wasn't messing around here. It was the same tone Dad would have used. He hated when he used it and even more hated how easily it always rolled off his tongue when he did break down and use it. It wasn't anymore fair than the pout induced guilt trips he pulled, but barking an order was sometimes the only way to snap Dean out of an immovable state.

He just plain wasn't letting Dean out of his sight. Anyway, it wasn't like Dean could argue that he was more comfortable here. Sam could clearly see by the awkward way that Dean was sitting forward that the car seat was killing his brother's bruised up back.

Grumbling some string of dirty insults under his breath, Dean stiffly rose from the seat and reluctantly followed him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dean as he walked to make sure that he didn't look unsteady.

As Sam opened the lobby door for Dean the man at the front desk jumped and stuffed the magazine he had been 'reading' into a drawer. He looked them over closely as they approached. At first Sam was afraid that the man recognized them with as closely as the guy was looking Dean over, but he realized a moment later that the bruising on Dean's face and throat were starting to color up.

"One queen?" the man asked.

"What?" He caught Dean's exasperated look and quickly shook his head. "Two singles," he corrected before Dean could say something monumentally stupid.

"Sure..." The man accepted Sam's credit card and read the name off it. "Roy Vanderford?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"That's not your name," Dean interrupted.

Sam threw a shocked looked towards his brother, but he was starting to think that Dean's truth serum idea might not be total crap after all. Dean really couldn't stop himself.

"What?" Dean asked at his look.

"This isn't his card?" the man behind the desk asked.

"It's his now. I gave it to him. That's just not his name."

He should have dragged Dean back to the car then and there, but he was momentarily stuck in place as he studied his brother. It was like Dean didn't even realize what he was saying.

"Are you the card holder, Mr. Vanderford?" the baffled man asked Dean

"No, he's..." But Sam wasn't quick enough to stop his brother's casual reply.

"I'm Dean Winchester. That card is totally fake. I mean it'll work fine, but it's a phony ID. So will you just run it so we can..."

Dean's words trailed off as his mildly annoyed expression suddenly twisted into confusion. The words had obviously caught up with his brother though Dean still sent him a questioning look as if to confirm that he'd really said what he thought. Sam reluctantly nodded a silent confirmation.

"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed.

His brother looked at him anxiously for an explanation that Sam just didn't have. All he could do was put his hand on Dean's shoulder and turn him back towards the door.

"Sorry. My brother's had a really rough night. We're leaving," Sam assured the man behind the desk.

He snatched the card back, not that they could use it now. Stuffing it in his pocket, he grabbed a hold of Dean's arm and yanked him out of the motel with him. As soon as they were out the door Dean pulled free and stormed down the sidewalk like he was looking for something to hit.

"Damn it!"

Dean clutched his head in hands before throwing his arms down to his side. Sam waited for Dean to pace it off. If he went over to him now, he probably would be the one getting punched. A minute later Dean finally rejoined. Without looking at him, Dean climbed into the car. There was a long silence before Dean finally spoke.

"What the hell did they do to me?"

"It's okay. We'll figure this out," Sam promised him as he drove out of the lot. "Let's just try a different motel. Next time you can wait in the car."


	3. Chapter 3

_Comfort Inn – Philadelphia, PA  
_

Dean's inability to keep his mouth shut at the last motel had been a blessing in disguise. They had gone from trying to get a room in one of the dingiest motels on the east coast to a large, chain hotel. It was sterile, roomy and totally not their style.

Sam could tell that Dean was uncomfortable here. Maybe it was just a little too clean and family friendly for his brother, but that was the point. It wasn't the sort of lodging that the FBI would expect them to hold up at. While Dean didn't like the hotel itself, Sam had sold his brother with the parking garage that had security patrols.

It was almost like the big city environment was making Dean uneasier than the demons were or maybe his brother was just deflecting. Either way Dean had muttered something about not wanting to leave his sweetheart unprotected against the whims of the city. Of course Dean hadn't used those words exactly, but Sam hadn't exactly been listening. He had much bigger concerns than that car.

Right now the Impala was in the parking garage safely tucked out of street view. That left Sam locked in a room having a stare off with his increasingly pissed off big brother. He had to admit that he wasn't helping anything with his questioning, but talking to Dean right now was something he couldn't get enough of. Under any other circumstance it would have been flat out hilarious.

"Favorite color," Sam continued.

While the look Dean sent him promised endless torments, his brother answered all the same. It was the strangest thing but Dean looked like he was physically struggling to keep his own jaw clamped shut. His attempt failed miserably. Despite Sam's earlier hopes, there was no way this was just some off side effect of a concussion.

"Black," Dean finally blurted out. "I think...I don't know. What kind of stupid ass question is that anyway? Only you and girls have favorite colors."

"I don't get it."

"You got a problem with black? My car is black."

Sam couldn't help but smirk at Dean's childish defense of the color, but his brother obviously didn't share his amusement. Better then not to mention the fact that black wasn't even technically a color.

"Sorry. It's not the color, Dean. It's this. You. A group of demons attacked you so that you'd have to tell me your favorite color and that you think my hair looks like a dirty mop?"

"It does," Dean confirmed though he at least had the decency to look half guilty about it. "So when's Bobby getting here?" his brother asked in yet another desperate attempt to change the subject.

"In the morning."

"This so can't wait until morning."

"Uh...so far I don't think it's lethal."

"If I have to be completely honest until morning somebody's gonna kill me and as long as you've got me locked up in here, it's gonna be you. Then won't you feel guilty?"

Sam raised his brows at Dean's ridiculous insistence. "You can't seriously lie that much."

"Yes I do!" his brother adamantly insisted before clamping his hand over his mouth and growling in frustration. "Damn it! Sammy, you've gotta knock me out."

"What?"

"Just knock me out."

Dean was suddenly standing directly in front of him motioning towards his discolored face like he seriously expected Sam to punch him. As worried as he already was about that lump on Dean's head, he would take out anyone that looked like they were going to take a swing at his brother. He sure wasn't going to do it himself.

"You do seriously have brain damage, don't you?"

"I think so. Just do it."

"Not happening, Dean," he said as he turned away to put some distance between him and his insane brother. "You're lucky your skull is even in one piece. I'm not going to hit you in the head. Again. Just go to sleep. I'll work on this."

"No way."

Without further explanation his brother moved on to dig through the bag at the side of his bed. A moment later, Dean's hand emerged with an already half empty bottle of _Jack Daniel's_. That was about the last thing in the world that his brother needed.

"Why not?" Sam finally asked.

He walked back over to Dean and snatched the bottle from his brother's hand, ignoring the snarl of protest. Not paying any real attention, he set it aside on the dresser before looking back to Dean for an explanation.

"Because I talk in my sleep. You know I do," he insisted at Sam's skeptical look.

It was true. Sam wasn't denying that Dean sometimes rambled on in his sleep. He always had, but it wasn't like it was ever a clear monologue. It was always just enough for him to be able to tell what kind of nightmare Dean was having or if Sam needed to put a pillow over his own head so he didn't have to listen to Dean getting lucky in his sleep.

With effort he could sometimes piece things together, but there was no way Dean would divulge any detailed, deep dark secrets in his drowsy mutterings. Unfortunately there was also no way he was going to convince Dean of that. It was going to be a long night.

With a shake of his head, Sam sat down at the room's desk and started to set up his laptop. The first thing he needed to figure out was whether what had happened to Dean was unique to his brother or if it was a part of the other five attacks. He really didn't care what Dean did while he researched as long as it didn't involve leaving this room or getting wasted.

"Then stay awake. Just don't talk if you're so worried about me killing you."

"I'm not worried. I might be the idiot brother, but I don't pull my punches like a girl and I don't have those freaky huge feet to trip over. I can totally kick your ass with my eyes closed...well, with my eyes open anyway."

As Dean contradicted himself, his words seemed to catch up with him again. He gave a semi-apologetic shrug and Sam just rolled his eyes. Maybe Dean was right to be worried about making it until morning.

"What'd I tell you? I can't not talk. That's what's so damn annoying! I mean, I know I'm annoying as hell anyway..." Dean took a gulp from the whiskey that had somehow made it back into his hand. "You ask something and I gotta answer."

As soon as the words had left Dean's mouth he seemed to realize that he shouldn't have said them. His brother quickly looked away as if he hadn't said anything at all and took another long drink.

Leaving his laptop to start up, Sam stood up and turned his chair so that it was pointed towards Dean. He settled back down and looked at his brother who was eyeing him suspiciously.

"What're you doing?"

"I have a real question."

"Awesome. I'm gonna go sleep in the car."

With the bottle tucked under his arm, Dean stood from the bed, grabbed his jacket and was half way to the door by the time Sam could speak again.

"Dean. Stop. Just one question."

Hesitantly, his brother halted just short of unlatching the chain on the door and glanced back at him. "I don't peak when you're in the shower."

Sam sneered back at him. "And that's so...not it." Despite Dean's attempt at distracting him, his expression instantly turned serious again. "Please, Dean."

At his earnest tone, Dean fully turned back around to face him. "Don't, Sam. The crap in here," he said with a tap to his temple, "this is my personal crap. No offense, dude, but I don't want to Vulcan mind meld with you."

"I have to know."

"No problem. I'll answer any question you got as soon as you fix me."

When Sam's insisted look remained steady, Dean shifted uncomfortably. If his brother was this worried about something he might ask it was frighteningly obvious that Dean didn't tell him much of anything about what he was actually thinking. That wasn't exactly a total shock.

He knew his brother kept most everything to himself, but he had never stopped to fully consider what all that stuff Dean was so desperately pushing down was. They'd been at each other's side for basically their entire lives.

There wasn't anything that Dean could ask him that he wouldn't honestly answer. He had nothing to hide from his brother and that fact just made him wonder all the more about what Dean was so afraid of saying. The truth was that Sam was still freaked out about what Dean had said at the diner.

Since he'd been a kid he'd grown up with this picture in his head of his obscenely certain, self-loving big brother. He couldn't begin to wrap his head around the thought that Dean wasn't unshakably confident in himself. That underneath everything his tough talking brother really didn't feel like he was good enough. It didn't even seem possible.

"It's not fair. Whatever it is, if I'd wanted you to know I would've told you."

"I know. I'm sorry, man, but you owe me this one."

As true as that was, Sam still silently sought permission. The last thing he wanted to do was to violate Dean, but he needed to understand. All the same, he knew he wasn't playing fair with the pleading look he was sending towards Dean and soon enough his brother gave in.

"Alright, fine. But this better be worth it because you're going to be paying for this for a long damn time. Well, not that long I guess, but I can make this year hell for you. Not that I would..." Dean grumbled in irritation at his own words. "You sure you can't just shoot me instead?"

Sam made no verbal reply, but shook his head and kept watching his brother with worried eyes. Finally Dean threw down his jacket and plopped down on the bed across from him. Despite Dean's attempt to disguise it, Sam hadn't missed the wave of pain that flashed over his brother's tired features in response to the abrupt action.

"Right...okay." When he was settled, Dean made a surrendering motion with his arms as he looked back at him. "Hit me."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Steal your underwear? Last time we went to..."

"I don't even want to know," Sam quickly cut him off, "and not what I'm asking."

Maybe Dean could only tell the truth but he was still his brother and therefore a serious smart ass. He knew that Dean didn't really think he was wasting his only question on missing underwear that he really didn't want back, but when he saw Dean raise his brow questioningly he realized that Dean really didn't know what he was asking. Was Sam the only one that cared that his brother was going to hell?

"I've done a lot of crap, Sammy. Most of it bad. I'm going to need a hint here."

"Why did you make the deal?"

At that Dean visually deflated. His brother's eyes begged Sam not to go there, but he had to know. Not for himself, but to figure out how to talk Dean into fighting it. If he was going to save Dean he had to understand what his brother had been thinking. It had been Dean that had adamantly insisted that dead things should stay dead.

"To bring you back."

"Yeah, nice try. I mean...how could you think it was okay? Dean, you're going to hell because of me."

His brother tried to blank out his features yet the tension remained visible in every muscle of Dean's body from the pressed hard-line of his lips to his fisted grip on the bed's blanket. Sam didn't want to put anything else on Dean's shoulders now, but this was likely his only chance to try to make sense of this from Dean's point of view.

"Not because of you. If I'd just done my damn job then none of this would've happened. But I screwed up so, yeah, I'm going to hell and that's okay. Given that it's a done deal and all there's not exactly a lot to say."

Sam straightened rigidly in his chair as he stared dumbfounded at Dean. The words were one thing, but it was Dean's tone that had Sam floored. His brother said it like it was self-evident.

A demon had hijacked him, set a group of other demon kids on him and somehow that was Dean's fault? Despite what he heard in Dean's voice and saw in his eyes, he couldn't begin to believe that Dean really accepted that he should go to hell for not having been able to stop the impossible.

"God, Dean. How can you say that? It's not even close to okay."

"Damn better than the alternative. It's my soul. My choice."

"That's not what you said when it was Dad."

The confident posturing left Dean and his brother cast his eyes down. "It was different with Dad. I wasn't worth dying over. He should've let me go."

"Weren't worth dying for?" Sam couldn't keep the appalled tone from his voice. "I know it never really seemed like it, Dean, but you were his son. Dad owed you everything."

Including his life. It would be suicide to suggest that much to Dean, but Dad had never given Dean a choice about whether or not he should have to give up his life for this fight. Maybe it wasn't wrong that in the end Dad had given his life to try to give Dean his back.

Sam felt cold even thinking it. He had never agreed with Dad, but for better or worse the man had been their father and Sam had never wanted anything to happen to him. If only for Dean's sake, he wished Dad was still here, but he wasn't. It was a fact that he knew left an all too raw wound on his brother's heart.

As testament to that a fierce warning look flashed across Dean's eyes. "Dad didn't owe me crap." Nearly as quickly as Dean had looked up at him, his eyes returned to the comforter he was sitting on.

Dean held strong to this distorted view of the way things had been. His brother claimed to remember a cohesive family and good times that had just never been there. In Dean's world so much as questioning Dad was some kind of monumental sin.

In Sam's world, just because you tried to do right, didn't mean that what you did was right. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. They were both guilty of that as much as Dad had been, but Sam blamed Dad for the fact that Dean held on to guilt for things he had never even done.

His brother sat silently, now staring at some distant point, his jaw clenching as he swallowed hard. Sam didn't know what he could say that Dean would hear, but Dean beat him to speaking anyway.

"Besides, sons don't kill their dads."

Given the thoughts that had been playing in Sam's head, he at first thought that Dean was accusing him of something. His eyes narrowed, but he quickly realized that Dean wasn't looking at him. He wasn't talking about him either. Sam's brow creased.

"Dean, you didn't kill Dad. You get that, right?"

His brother shook his head and something on his face changed by the time he looked back up. "I needed him."

The naked desperation in Dean's eyes at the simple phrase threw Sam for another loop. Honestly Sam had never understood Dean's reliance on the man. Logistically Dad had been the one who had needed Dean, not the other way around. Emotionally he could only assume that Dad had mostly checked out the night Mom had died. He didn't blame him for that.

It wasn't humanly possible for anyone, even with the best of intentions, to be that obsessed with vengeance and still be emotionally available. He knew that from personal experience because he'd been there himself and even as a kid Sam had understood that Dad had only been human.

Dad had tried, but he'd been far from perfect. As basic as that concept seemed, Sam suspected that Dean had never accepted it. Maybe in Dean's mind Dad had never really given him affection because there was something wrong with him without realizing that it had just been Dad that had been too broken to give.

There were times Sam had wanted Dad there more than anything, but that had rarely happened. Dean was the one that had always been there and Dean was the one that he needed to continue to be here.

"And you don't think I need you?"

"No. Not like I need you. Look, Sam, I don't want to be here if you're not. You got your answer. Can we just drop this?"

Sam was too caught up in trying to figure this out to even consider Dean's request. "Who says I want to be here without you?"

"Oh come on!" Dean replied in apparent disbelief. "I know I'm no genius, but how stupid do you really think I am?"

His brother shoved himself off the bed and paced as far as he could get. He rubbed his hand agitatedly over his hair before abruptly turning back around. After a moment Dean's eyes rose to meet his. Sam was at a loss for words because he had no idea what Dean was implying and suddenly Dean looked equally confused.

"Seriously? You left me and Dad and you were fine. You were happy. You never needed Dad and once you were old enough to take care of yourself you didn't need me anymore either."

There wasn't a hint of malice in the words, but the empty tone they were spoken with made them excruciating to hear. He knew what it sounded like Dean was saying, but he refused to believe it. Sam could take care of himself. He had been able to for nearly a decade, but that didn't mean that Dean was now useless.

It should never have been Dean's responsibility to watch out for him. It wasn't a one-way street. They were supposed to watch out for each other, but reality hit home hard when he really considered it. Sam's brows knitted as he looked away.

Growing up, when he'd gotten scared it hadn't been Dad that Sam had ran to. Not since Dad had given him his own gun and told him to deal with it himself. He had never had to deal with it himself, he'd always had Dean to do it for him, but no one had been there to do it for Dean.

Whenever Dad had been messed up, it had always been Dean that had put him back together. Dean had taken care of everything from making sure they ate to always being the one that had convinced him and Dad that everything would be okay. His brother had been the one to keep them together as a family.

Now Dad was gone and Dean seemed to be saying that if he wasn't caring for his little brother than he might as well be dead. That assumption was so screwed up that Sam didn't even know where to start in correcting it. He just plain didn't know how his brother could think that or how he could have been so blind to have not seen it before.

"You're freaky ass smart. You can do damn near anything you want and people, they like you," Dean continued. "You can make friends...start a new family. I know it sucks losing your brother, but you're stronger than me. You'll get over it."

Sam realized that Dean had mistaken his shocked silence for agreeing with him. Dean looked back at him and Sam was startled by how vulnerable his brother came off without the masked layers of bravado. He wanted to apologize for making Dean feel like this, but he knew it was there all the time. Dean just usually kept it buried in himself.

"You're a complete moron."

"Not exactly a newsflash there, Sammy. What's you're point?"

With a shake of his head Sam stared at Dean in complete disbelief. It was painful to think that Dean actually believed that, let alone believed all the other things he was saying. As much as he wanted to think that maybe it wasn't the truth, he knew all too well that it was. He just wanted to fix it.

"No. Dean, you're not stupid. I mean...you think you have this all figured out. You think you've got me figured out and you don't have a clue."

"Okay, sure. Whatever." Dean moved back to his bed and laid down on his side facing away from Sam. "I'm tired of getting freakin' mind raped here. I'm gonna pretend to be asleep until Bobby gets here."

Sam tensed his jaw as he watched the unsteady rise and fall of his brother's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dean."

The room lapsed into silence for long enough that Sam started to get up to turn the chair back towards his laptop, but as he moved Dean answered.

"Doesn't matter."

He wasn't going to accept that defeat in his brother's tone. "Yeah, it does." Sam wasn't sorry for having asked the question, it was everything else. "I'm sorry that I haven't made it clearer that you're all I got, Dean. I've always depended on you for everything and I can't think about the world without you in it."

Dean's tensed shoulders shrug. His brother lay strangely still for a long moment, no doubt collecting himself, before rolling over to face Sam. Dean propped his head up with his elbow and quirked a brow at him.

"Could you be any sappier? I mean really, dude. I'm selfish enough to wish that was true even though I'm leaving you alone, but you know I gotta say it's lame or it'll show what a sap I am. Please tell me you're not gonna pull out an engagement ring."

His brother was trying so hard to pull off his usual feeling masking jokes. To Sam it came off as a funky garble of comments Dean could hide behind and painful truth, but Dean didn't seem to notice so Sam just latched onto what his brother had wanted him to hear.

"I knew I forgot something," Sam replied with a ghost of a smile.

The expression on Dean's face was still doubtful. "You can't need me here that bad. Admit it, I totally cramp your style."

"Sorry, Dean," Sam replied with a shrug of his own. "I still need you. You're just going to have to stick around. Sappy or not, it's the truth."

"Yeah, well, I've had it up to here with the truth. I taught you everything I know, Sammy. You'll be okay. I just wanna have a big long party and forget about it." Slowly Dean rolled so that he was sitting back up and finally looked Sam dead in the eyes. "And I don't want you to stop it."

"You know I'm not just going to let you go."

"Yes you are. I'm ready to go and you don't got a choice. It's better this way."

"Better than what?"

"Better than you dead and me a total jerk-off failure."

"Dean, whether or not I'm alive you're about as far from being a failure as anyone could get and you're not worthless without me. You're the strongest person I've ever met."

"Don't I wish…you obviously need to get out more, Sam. You've been listening to me too long."

"There's no one else around worth listening to." Dean sputtered disbelievingly at that like he thought it was a joke. It wasn't. "Seriously, Dean. I don't give a crap about what anyone but you says."

Again Dean gave a mostly humorless chuckle. "Dude, that was when you were three and you thought Dad and I were the only two people on the planet besides you."

Sam shook his head to make it clear that wasn't what he was talking about. Dean seemed genuinely perplexed at his assertion, but he wasn't saying any of this just to make Dean feel better. What Sam was saying was every bit as true as what his brother was.

"Man, you are either lying out your ass or setting yourself up for some serious disappointment," Dean continued doubtfully. "Nothing I say is worth hearing."

Sam found himself wanting to tell Dean to stop insulting his brother. He wasn't listening to anymore of this. "Stop, Dean. Just stop. This is ridiculous. You never should've had to do half of what you've done, but you did it and you never complained. Man, I never even knew..."

"Stop looking at me with that damn pity in your eyes!" Dean demanded. His brother slammed his fist down on the mattress in such a sudden surge of energy that Sam nearly jumped. "Don't you _ever_ feel sorry for me. I've always done what I've had to so that I could take care of this family. Take care of you. That's what I needed to do and I don't regret anything I've ever..."

The determined strength in Dean's voice cracked. His brother dropped his head to his chest and after a few deep breaths, rubbed his hand over his eyes. Slowly he lifted his head but kept his eyes adverted. When he spoke his voice had softened considerably and almost sounded uncertain.

"I just wish I could've done it better, you know? But, hey, there's still time, right? I ain't dead yet."

Dean tried to force a smile. Sam knew his brother was doing it for him so he let Dean think that it was a comfort. It would have been if it was real, but the sorrow in his brother's eyes was suffocating. Sam struggled to force the corner of his own lips up and nodded in agreement.

"If I got anything to say about it, you're not going anywhere."

It took all the restraint he had not to address anything else. He wanted to shake Dean to make him see that no one else on the planet would have given as much as he had. To tell his brother that it wasn't pity that he held when he looked at him. It was concern for the brother he admired more than anyone. But Dean was right on the edge of breaking and even though it shouldn't, Sam knew that humiliated his brother to no end.

Dean thought he had to keep it all together and that meant never letting anyone, even his own brother, see him break down. No doubt he had Dad to thank for that because god forbid that Dean should have an outlet rather than having to keep everything locked inside. No wonder his brother thought he was so alone.

Just because Sam wanted to deal with this out in the open, didn't mean that he was going to force Dean to. He'd gotten the answer he needed and would just have to work on Dean in more subtle ways.

"Super," Dean replied after he managed to throw his defenses back up. "So can we drop this freaky _kumbaya_crap and kick some demon ass?"

"Yeah. Sure, Dean."

Sam let out a heavy sigh as he turned back to his laptop so that Dean wouldn't see the sadness in his own eyes. He didn't really have any clue how he was going to fix any of this. He just knew that he had to. It was the least he owed Dean.

"Uh...so, anyway," Sam said as he opened the web browser, "I'm going to dig up more information on the deaths to see if anything matches what happened to you tonight."

"It would help to know whether or not we're even dealing with the same sons of bitches and if I'm going to wake up some demon's sacrifice."

"You're not," Sam assured him.

"Guess it's good that one of us is suddenly an optimist. So what can I do?"

"Sleep." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. "Dean, you're beyond exhausted. You need to rest. I promise I won't listen."

Sam pulled his headphones out of his bag and plugged them into the laptop's jack to prove it. Reluctantly Dean started to undress, but Sam could see his brother's still troubled eyes in the mirror over the dresser. Sam took a moment to work up a sideways grin and shot a look over his shoulder to Dean.

"I really don't want to hear you mumbling about how much you like Bobby anyway."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean chuckled as he pulled off one of his cheap dress shoes and pitched it at him. Sam blocked it and tossed it back to his now smirking brother. "Bobby is damn fine...in a way that's totally not."

Dean made a face at his own words before shaking it off. It was somehow different listening to Dean knowing what his brother was masking under the surface. Dean's annoying posturing suddenly wasn't so annoying.

"But I guarantee whatever he's hiding under that hat looks ten times better than what's stuck on your head and I spoke that so you know it's freakin' gospel."

"You're a total jerk, Dean. Go to sleep," Sam snorted in reply.

As soon as he turned away from Dean the feigned smile fell from his lips. Joking around was the last thing he felt like doing, but there was no way he was going to let his brother go to sleep miserable. He just wanted to make Dean forget all of this. Forget everything.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes later and he realized he hadn't heard Dean moving around for a while. Sam glanced towards the mirror but he couldn't see Dean from that angle anymore. He pulled the headphones that weren't even playing music out of his ears and glanced to his side to see what his brother was doing.

Dean had taken off his other shoe but hadn't even finished unbuttoning his dress shirt. Instead his brother had just collapsed on top of the covers. Sam furrowed his brow as he silently studied Dean. The relaxed position looked comfortable enough and he could hear his brother's breathing, deep and steady.

The rhythm sounded completely normal for Dean. There had only been two years of their lives that they hadn't shared a room together. If it was one thing Sam knew it was what his brother sounded like when he was sleeping and whether or not everything was all right. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that Dean was so tired. His brother had every right to be after tonight.

Quietly Sam walked over to pickup the stuff that Dean had left strewn around the bed he had passed out on. With a light kick he nudged Dean's shoes out of the way so that his brother wouldn't trip on them. He scooped up the whiskey bottle lying next to Dean and returned it to the bag. When everything that should be in the bag was, he carefully lifted up the leather jacket Dean had thrown on the bed and draped it out of the way on top of the olive duffel.

Sam stopped just before turning off the bedside lamp when he saw Dean's face. There was no longer any trace of the earlier tension and hurt that had clouded his brother's features. If there was any way he could permanently take away that pain he would, but it wasn't something that was going to happen over night. They were just going to have to take this one step at a time.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wasn't sure at what point he'd let himself fall asleep. Pass out was more like it. He hadn't remembered having a choice. Groggily he searched his mind for an explanation. He'd been drugged. That Mindy chick. Or the other one...Maria. What a bitch.

Of course he also remembered whiskey being involved at some point. Could explain the killer headache. So maybe not so much with the non-consensual needle sharing. Could be that Mindy and Maria had been godsends and those random demon visuals popping up in his head were nothing more than what was left of a seriously screwed up nightmare.

A pack of demons in a downtown parking lot was pretty screwed up, no question there. But when he shifted his position every muscle in his body screamed in protest and not with the hurt so good aches that came from a night of pleasant exertions. The only intimacy that made these pains was a lot of forced contact with the ground. Or walls. Cars...

The throbbing in his head kicked into full gear and verified his vague recollection of an intimate evening with the sheet metal of a van. Not just a screwed up nightmare then. Just them being screwed. Super.

Maybe he should just go back to sleep and wake up in a year when it was all over. He might just do that if the rest of what he was remembering was real. He clung to the hope that he'd just hit his head one too many times. Permanent brain damage was so much more appealing than thinking he'd really laid everything out last night.

The fog of half sleep lifted as his brain fully processed the sound that had initially dragged him closer to waking. Someone was knocking at the door and not patiently. His hand automatically reached for his gun, but stopped half way. He didn't even know where his weapon was. Dad would've rightfully torn him a new one for that.

Where his gun was though suddenly seemed less relevant when he realized that he didn't even know where he was. His eyes flew open and scanned the sunlight-bathed room around him. It looked foreign at first until he slowly recalled the stupid ass hotel Sam had checked them into. The full memories of last night hit him like a freight train. He needed to find that gun after all.

"Sammy?" Dean called questioningly towards the door. But when Sam walked around the corner from the bathroom he realized it wasn't his brother knocking.

"Right here, Dean. What do you need?"

"My gun."

"It's just Bobby."

"That's great, but dude, where's my gun?"

"No clue. What did you do with it?" His brother abruptly stopped his progress towards the door and looked back at him sheepishly. "Uh...Dean, I think we left it in the parking lot at the bar."

"You mean _you_ left my gun next to a pile of dead guys with my prints all over it. Fan-freakin'-tastic," he grumbled. "Looks like I'm making FBI's number one most wanted after all."

Dean wasn't actually bothered by that idea. He'd already hit top ten. Why not shoot for the stars? The fact was he deserved a little notoriety if it was the only type of acknowledgement the world could summon up for him before he took the plunge.

"Do you think I could do a phone-in interview with John Walsh for my America's Most Wanted special?"

Sam looked like he had a few choice words to say in reply, but he was still playing the smothering nice card that Dean wanted to pull out of play. Despite his desire to get Sam off his back, Dean didn't help anything when he couldn't stop himself from groaning. Sitting up hadn't been as easy as it sounded.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Not even close. I'm too old for this."

"Seriously, Dean? You're not even thirty."

"I'm in the last year of my life. Trust me. I'm too old for this crap."

Sam apparently didn't want to touch that one and instead opened the door to Bobby's impatient knocking.

"About damn time," the older man huffed as he pushed into the room. "I was about to bust the door in. Did you two chuckle heads need time to hide the girls under the beds?"

"Sorry, Bobby," Sam replied as he shut the door behind him. "Dean just woke up. Thanks for coming."

"No problem, kid. Just sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

For all his gruff, tough guy talk Bobby was really just a big teddy bear. A really shotgun proficient, shoot you as soon as look at you teddy bear that really wasn't all that cuddly. Actually Dean got the impression that Sam and him were a couple of the only people that Bobby was actually nice to and 'nice' didn't begin to cover it.

Bobby was a father to him, but a world different than Dad had been. With Bobby it had always been like Dean could do no wrong. He didn't get how Bobby was that blind because the fact was he could do no right, but it was like Bobby didn't even care how bad he screwed up. It didn't matter what happened, Bobby was always there when they needed him. Really he was more like what Dean imagined a grandpa would be.

Despite everything he almost snickered at that. Bobby would totally kick his ass if he knew he'd just thought of him as a grandpa. His inner amusement fell short of making it to his face as he realized if Bobby asked he wouldn't be able to stop himself from blurting out what he'd been thinking. So much for inside jokes.

Searching for a distraction his eyes fell on his own clothing. He ran a hand absently over his rumpled tie that hadn't quite made it all the way off last night. Suit pants and a dirt smeared, half unbuttoned dress shirt. Classy.

"Rough night, huh?" Bobby asked.

It took Dean a minute to realize that the question had been aimed at him. He looked up from his shirt and saw the concern in Bobby's eyes. What he wouldn't give not to see that look on someone's face when they looked at him. Nobody needed to be wasting their time worrying about him.

"Yeah, it sucked. Same old. At least it was me they grabbed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked in that way that really wasn't a question.

He so didn't need his little brother chastising him right now. If the demons were going to mess with anyone, it might as well be the sucker that was already on the way out. That wasn't just his personal preference. That was just plain commonsense. Just because he happened to be short straw guy didn't change the facts.

"You know damn well what it means, Sam." With a frustrated sigh Dean ran his hands over his face. "Man, I'm through explaining myself to you. Like it or don't. I don't give a rat's ass either way, but I don't have to justify myself to anyone. Not even you."

Sam looked put out, which wasn't Dean's intention, but he was drowning here. He just needed some room to breath and to think. Privately. In his own head.

"You're right, Dean. I'm sorry."

It was taking every bit of his worn patience not to pummel someone. This whole be careful with Dean business was crap. He wanted Sam to just be Sam and to stop being sorry every little word. Sorry didn't change anything.

"No, I'm not right and I'm tired of everyone being sorry," he replied in complete frustration. "What do you got to be sorry for anyway?"

"As much as you."

"Oh come on! Look, Sam, I know how screwed up you think I am...you both think I am," he corrected with a glance towards Bobby.

They didn't have to say it. He could see it in their eyes. Sam opened his mouth to protest and Bobby was right behind his brother, but Dean cut them both off because he didn't want to hear it. Not now.

"Maybe you guys are right. I don't know and I don't care, because this is just me and I'm okay. I mean I'm not happy and I don't like what I see in the mirror. I'm scared...man," he shook his head, "I'm terrified. Me and every other poor sap on this planet."

It wasn't like he was the only dick going to hell. He wasn't the only one on earth dying either. He wasn't even the only one who knew his expiration date. His was just a little more exact. Good people were dying right now. Unlike the rest of them, he'd actually chosen this so there was no way he was going to sit around feeling sorry for himself.

He didn't want anyone else feeling sorry for him either, but they were. Neither Sam or Bobby seemed to know what to say and the thing was, he didn't want them to say anything.

"Can we just find a way for me to shut my pie hole that doesn't involve me slitting my own throat? And just a heads up - I'm throwing a punch at the next guy that asks me a question."

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed so that his back was to the well intending, but annoying as hell guys that wouldn't stop staring at him. At least the demons hadn't felt sorry for him. He grabbed his liquor bottle back out of the bag and unscrewed the cap.

"We don't do coffee anymore?" Bobby asked.

The stern tone stopped the movement of his hand just before the opening of the bottle touched his lips. It wasn't that he wouldn't take some coffee. It might help clear his head, but when he really thought about it, he had a feeling that everything would just look all the crappier if his head was clear.

Right now foggy and numb sounded pretty damn good. He was also decently sure that he could drink nothing but alcohol for the time he had left and still have a functioning liver by the time he was pitched into the pit.

"You didn't bring me any," Dean replied with a glance towards Bobby. "Besides, if I'm gonna ramble on like a drunken idiot I might as well actually be drunk. At least then I won't have to remember all this crap I'm spewing."

At the disapproving fatherly look he didn't need right now, he returned the cap to the bottle and tossed it back into the duffel. He couldn't deal with this right now. Find and kill the demons – sign him up for that action, but sitting here and talking about his mental state just wasn't happening.

"You guys talk, I'm going to go change into something not stupid."

"Dean, sit down," Sam practically begged.

The voice was way too tired. Dean's eyes flashed to his brother. It was the first time this morning that he really looked at Sam and his brother looked like crap. Judging by the bags under his eyes there was no way Sam had actually slept last night.

"I don't wanna. Besides, you look worse than I feel. You should get some sleep."

Sam just looked at him like he was crazy. Like it was some wild nutty thing to suggest that his exhausted little brother should get some rest? If the demons were coming they'd come and he wasn't going to have Sam getting killed again because he'd been too tired to fight at the top of his game.

"I'll sleep once we've got this figured out. We need to talk about what's going on with you."

He knew his brother was worried. He got that, but he wasn't the priority here. The demons had done whatever they had done. Maybe it would wear off, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe they'd come back to finish the job. He dared them to try. At least exorcising their asses would be something not awkward to do. But short of that he was done.

Everyone and their mother wanted to screw with him and he was having trouble caring. There wasn't much point in worrying about something he couldn't stop and dealing with this was not how he was going to spend the time he had left. Worse came to worse he could just cut out his tongue and still have his going away party.

"No. I'm tired of talking, Sam. You guys just make this go away so I can get back to dying in peace."

Without waiting for the reply he didn't want to hear, he dug some clothes out of his bag, pushed off the bed and shut himself in the bathroom. Even he knew it was the action of a petulant five year old, but screw that. He didn't care. Coming off like an overgrown brat was far better than more of the truth coming out.

----

Bobby had driven all night to get out here. He never should have left the boys to go after this. The signs had all been there, but hell, the signs were everywhere these days. There was no chance he would have sent these two in alone if he'd known they were actually going to step into something this deep.

The last time he'd turned his back, Dean had up and pulled a classic Winchester. As far as he could figure this was the most self-destructive family of martyrs ever to walk this earth, but they were his stupid, suicidal family and he was trying his _damndest_ to keep what was left of them intact.

So help him, he loved these boys more than was reasonable. It didn't matter that they were Winchesters by birth. They were his now and he honestly couldn't love them more if they had been his all along. It was no question that he had to do what he could to set them right. He was just afraid that it was too little too late. Especially for Dean.

Sam had made his own mind about things from the day he could walk. Drove John damn near out of his mind in the later years, but only because Sam had been a spitting image of John's rigid certainty. John had never needed anyone to tell him that he was okay, that he was doing the right thing. John just knew, even when he was wrong, and so did Sam.

The problem was that John had always assumed Dean had known it too. There was no telling where that misguided idea had come from because Bobby had seen it was anything but so from the first day he'd laid eyes on John's silently obedient eldest. He could only imagine that it was his mother that Dean had taken after because it sure as hell wasn't John.

For reasons beyond Bobby, Dean would have unquestioningly done any stupid thing for that unbelievably dense father of his. Even go to hell. Literally. He could kill John all over for having been too blinded by self-appointed duty to see what he'd done, or rather hadn't done, with Dean.

All it would have taken was waking up enough to see how desperate the kid was for one damn approving word. But no, instead John had left behind a dependent young man that had never had anyone to depend on. The boy had given everything he had and still didn't think he was worth any more than having his soul chucked into the pit.

He shook his head as that bruised up boy stormed off to hide in the bathroom. Dean had managed to hide his true self from his own father for over twenty years. If anyone depended on being able to hide in themselves it was this kid.

If this thing was truly was what Sam was suggesting then it was little wonder that Dean looked ready to self-destruct. It couldn't be easy and this was steeped on top of a world of hurt that was already there. Sam's concerned eyes confirmed his fears.

"Isn't he just a ball of sunshine?" Bobby remarked dryly.

Sam raised his brows and nodded. "Yeah...this is hard for him."

"The whole truth thing?"

"I think he's just afraid I'm going to ask him more questions."

There was enough hint of guilt in Sam's tone to give Bobby a big clue as to why Dean was even less the Chatty Cathy than usual. Not that he needed any more explanation than the fact that the one thing Dean had always had in common with John was tightly sealed lips when it came to anything resembling personal. Dean talked a lot. The kid ran his mouth constantly, but he didn't tend to say anything when he did talk.

Sam's eyes moved away from the closed bathroom door to look at him. "So what do you think, Bobby? Could it be some kind of truth serum?"

"There are as many human made truth serums as there are leprechauns riding around on unicorns, but we're talking demons. We could be looking at damn near anything here. Are you full out certain he's just spouting truth?"

"Dean really can't stop himself from talking right now...no matter what it is. With how upset he is about it I'm guessing he must really just be saying the truth." Words aside, Sam's tone was skeptical at best.

"Now's not the time to be holding back, kid."

The youngest Winchester lowered his voice further before continuing, "He just...Dean doesn't actually sound like himself. Is there anyway a demon could've gotten past that tattoo?"

"You've been with him like this for twelve hours and you haven't thought to check if he's possessed?" he replied with a harsh whisper.

That should have been the first thing Sam had done, but he wasn't surprised the boy had gotten muddled up considering that this was his own brother they were dealing with. That's why Bobby had flown out here like a bat out of hell.

He had a sneaking suspicion about what had Sam thinking it wasn't Dean though. Sure they'd be needing to check for possession, but Bobby was more than sure that wasn't it. The first major clue was that if Dean was possessed Sam would probably already be dead and the second was that from what he'd seen, Dean wasn't acting out of character. He was just acting in a way that Sam wasn't used to seeing.

"What's he been saying that's got you wondering?"

"He just keeps...forget it. Dean isn't possessed. I just kind of wish he was."

Sam made a face as if he thought it was an awful thing to say, but Bobby understood more than Sam could know and just gave a curt nod of agreement. It was confirmation enough of what he had been thinking and there wasn't any reason to say anything more to it. It wasn't either of their places to speak for Dean.

"Might be that we're looking at some kind of truth potion."

"Maybe. But why go through all this just to make Dean tell the truth?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. It don't make a lick of sense. You say they just came at you in a public lot?"

"Well, Dean kind of went after them, but they were trying to break into the Impala's trunk."

"You boys carrying anything special in there?"

"Just the usual and we have a devil's trap and protection on the trunk. It's not like they could've even got in. The way it went down, it's almost like they were just trying to lure in Dean. Bobby, they didn't even care that I was there."

Touching that car would get the boy's full attention, but only someone who knew Dean would know that. He was hoping like hell that Sam was wrong because if he was right that would mean they were dealing with some black eyes that knew the Winchester boys far too well. He didn't need to be worrying Sam with that notion until they had more info to say for sure.

"You said you got the needle they used?" Bobby asked. Better to focus on what they could do now rather than what might happen later on.

"Yeah. I thought there might be something left in it that we could get tested."

"Good thinking."

They both stopped talking as Dean snuck back into the room. The boy had shed the rumpled suit and was back in his normal gear, but otherwise didn't look any better. The kid kept his eyes lowered and seemed intent on not speaking to them. He'd probably just gotten tired of sitting in the bathroom.

Bobby watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy settled back on the bed and grabbed the television remote. If Dean wanted to be let alone, there was no reason not to leave him to it until they really needed him.

"Let's start by getting it tested and see where that leaves us."

"Impersonating a federal officer my ass! That dick was impersonating a civilian."

With a confused scowl, Bobby turned around to look at Dean. He realized then that the boy wasn't talking to them, but was having it out with the television. No good ever came of watching the news.

"If you don't like it, turn it off. Don't sit there crying at it," Bobby grumbled dismissively.

When he turned back to Sam he realized that the younger boy's eyes were also wide and glued to the television. Obviously he was missing something here. He too turned his focus to the screen and he didn't like what he was seeing one bit.

Stuck up in the corner of the screen was a photo of Dean standing outside of a Milwaukee bank looking like a deer caught in headlights. It was far from the face of a cold-blooded killer, not that you'd guess it from what was being said. Some reporter was interviewing a man that was annoyingly smug considering how much he didn't know about the kid he was talking about.

"Who the hell's that yahoo?" Bobby asked.

"It's the jerk from the bar last night," Dean replied.

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he looked between the brothers. "Is there a little something else you two were planning on telling me?"

Dean apparently hadn't heard him, eyes still fixed on the damn television, but Sam squirmed. Sam had mentioned police, but only as an after thought so Bobby hadn't thought much of it. The boys weren't nearly as careful as they ought to be when it came to the law, but the things they were saying on this newscast went far beyond 'oops we ran into the cops again'.

According to the reporter the fugitive Dean Winchester and his accomplice were responsible for seven additional murders and two assaults. Bobby hadn't been keeping a tally sheet of the boy's charges but on top of what he did know, this wasn't anything to be messing around with.

He wasn't sure what of it was legit, but he had to think that Sam would have mentioned if Dean had gone on a murder spree last night. His mind couldn't help but flash to Sam's possession concern.

"You were with him all night?" Bobby asked Sam.

"Of course. I just left him in the car for like two minutes to check in."

"I killed two guys in the parking lot," Dean interjected out of the blue.

"While he checked in?" Bobby didn't succeed in keeping the shock from his voice as he tried to sort this out. Dean's statement was so blatant he didn't know what to do with it.

"No. Earlier. At the bar."

Sam jumped to his brother's defense. "You didn't kill anyone, Dean. Not on purpose."

"When I shot them in the head killing them was the general intention. So, yeah, I did."

"You were trying to slow down the demons."

"Yeah...and how'd that go? Two guys that shouldn't be dead and four demons still hunting our asses."

"Quit your whining. Both of you. This ain't helping a damn thing," Bobby interrupted. "Will one of you girls just tell me what really happened last night in plain English?"

Sam spoke up first. "Like I told you on the phone, there were four demons that jumped us. Dean shot two of them while they were attacking him. He didn't have a choice. I guess the two survivors are the supposed assaults. One of them had been in the bar with Dean so people would have seen them together before it happened."

"I don't like the sounds of that and I ain't no mathematician," Bobby replied, "but by my count that still leaves five bodies unaccounted for."

Sam just shrugged, but some sort of recognition seemed to flash over Dean's eyes. The boy started looking around the room before locking eyes with his brother.

"Sam, where's my jacket?" Dean asked.

"Right next to you," Sam replied with a nod towards John's old leather jacket.

"No. The suit. It's in the car right?"

"The jacket for your suit? Oh no," Sam groaned. "You took it off before the fight at the bar."

"And you didn't pick it up?"

"I was a little busy carrying you to pick up after you."

"That's just peachy."

"English, boys!" Bobby urged them impatiently. The boys were talking in code as far as he was concerned. That was one thing about trying to hold a conversation with two kids that could finish each other's sentences.

"I had the photos of five local murder victims in my jacket with my FBI badge and I guess Sammy here left them in the lot with my gun."

"I wasn't the one throwing my stuff all over the parking lot, Dean," Sam protested.

"That's why you're not the one that's gonna spend the last miserable year of his life in behind bars. Blaming you...doesn't even make me feel better." All the fire left the boy as he looked away. "I know it's my own damn fault."

"No, you're right, Dean. I should've been paying attention and I'm not letting them put you away."

"Like you can stop it."

"Can we all feel sorry for ourselves later? What exactly were you two doing last night?" Bobby asked.

"We interviewed this bar owner in front of an undercover officer," Dean replied without bothering to look at him. The kid's eyes were fixed back on the damn television. There was a reason Bobby hated these things.

"As FBI agents? What were you boys thinking?"

"It was Sam's stupid idea," Dean replied offhandedly.

"We didn't know," Sam explained.

"A hundred grand. Damn. That's pretty awesome."

"You got a hundred grand out of it?" Bobby asked Dean. "What'd you do, rob another bank?"

"No. The reward for my head. Obviously I'm screwed to hell no matter how we play this. Bobby, you need to turn me in and collect the reward. Least I could do is get you and Sam some spending cash before I go."

On any other day it could have been a joke, but it wasn't. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in the tone and the boy was looking up at him with all the earnestness in the world.

"I'm going to throttle you myself if you keep talking like that, boy," Bobby warned him.

"Take your best shot and while you're at it, why don't you both just stop pretending you can save me?"

Bobby shot Dean a warning look as the kid climbed off the bed and started pacing around like a caged tiger. He was sick and tired of this boy, his boy, insisting not only that he couldn't be saved, but that he wasn't worth the bother. If anyone was, Dean was.

"Last I checked you were still alive."

"Not for long so maybe we could stop screwing around with this and focus on something that matters."

"Like what exactly?"

"I don't know...don't you two have a world to save or some crap?"

"We _three_ do, but you might have trouble with that since you're too wrapped up in what you're saying to think straight. Say whatever you damn well please. Since when do you care?"

"I don't, but I want to pick my own freakin' words!" Dean's expression flashed with worry as he briefly met Bobby's eyes before the boy again broke contact. "I want what's in here to stay in here…and I don't want to chase you guys off. Okay?"

"What?"

Sam's confused question mirrored Bobby's own. If Dean thought he was getting away with leaving it at that the boy had another thing coming. Bobby moved in, blocking the kid's pacing. Dean looked like he wanted to bolt but stood his ground and finally leveled his eyes with Bobby's. The lost desperation that looked back at him shattered Bobby's heart. Under that carefully controlled exterior, the boy was drowning.

"You think you're gonna tell me my hat is stupid and I won't love you anymore? There ain't no qualifiers on love, kid. There's no idiotic thing you could do to make me or Sam turn our backs on you."

Dean just looked all the uneasier and dropped his eyes to the floor. "You don't have to say that."

"Damn right. I don't and I shouldn't have to. You should know it by now." He stepped in closer when he saw that Dean wanted to get away.

"Yeah, well, you're both nuts. Sorry to disappoint, but you guys love something that just isn't there."

That was the last straw. Bobby ignored the obvious fact that Dean wanted to get away. Instead he put his hands firmly on the boy's shoulder and forced the kid to look at him.

"Son, you're damn near perfect except you got your head on backwards when it comes to yourself. You could _never_ disappoint me and that's the god honest truth."

He hated that the words brought a flash of surprise to Dean's eyes. Finally it seemed like the kid was starting to believe him. About damn time.

"As long as we're all being honest, there's something I gotta know too."

"Anything."

"What is up with the hat?"

"Don't press your luck, boy."

Bobby cracked a smile and ruffled his hand through Dean's short hair. It wasn't something he'd done since the boy had been just a little tike and he half expected to get nailed for it, but he knew Dean needed it whether or not the kid would admit it. It seemed that he hadn't been wrong by the look of comfort that Dean did a lousy job of hiding.

"I got some books out in the car."

"I'll give you a hand, Bobby," Dean replied. "I gotta get out of this room before I go nuts."

"Dean, if anyone else has been watching the news..." Sam warned.

Bobby turned to see the apprehensive look on Sam's face. Parading Dean around would be a damn stupid idea right now, but given how long they were going to have to keep the boy cooped up in here they were going to have to let him out when they could just so that Dean didn't really lose it.

They wouldn't be going far and if they kept to the stairwells few would be seeing them. While he couldn't say it aloud with Dean standing there, he gave Sam a look that assured him that he'd keep an eye on Dean. Sam nodded in silent understanding.

"Okay," Sam reluctantly acquiesced. "Just give me a call if you guys run into any trouble."

"On our way to the parking garage?" Dean asked his brother with an annoyed look. "Just because my mouth has me babbling on like one doesn't mean I've actually turned into a toddler."

Sometimes Bobby wondered how these two ever got anything done, but they didn't just get it done. They were a couple of the best. And they were a couple – a pair anyway. He knew for a fact that Dean was dead without Sam and it would never be right for Sam once Dean was gone. He didn't blame Sam for worrying about letting the kid out of his sight.

In this case though even Bobby thought Dean could behave for the short distance they had to go. It was 11:30 AM and the parking garage was four floors directly under them. They didn't even have to leave the building to get there. The possibility of trouble was slim, but he had no intention of letting his guard down.

"We'll watch ourselves," Bobby assured Sam. "You do the same."

But Dean just scoffed. "Dude, if we run into something we can't handle between here and there we deserve to get our asses kicked."

----

Sam turned off the television and looked uneasily around the bland hotel room. He had assumed that Bobby had wanted to talk to Dean alone. Even though he knew it was wishful thinking, he futilely hoped that Dean wanted to talk to Bobby too. Really talk to him. It wasn't going to be easy saving Dean if his brother didn't even want to be saved.

He wanted to know the right thing to say to make Dean see, but for once he didn't know what to say and it really bothered him. He wanted to finally help his brother. Even though it didn't really matter how it happened, he wanted to be the one to save Dean. Just the possibility that he may not be able to was more than he could think about.

But now something else was bothering him. He'd taken talk time into account, but unless Dean was giving a blow by blow account of the last twenty four hours, Dean and Bobby had been gone way too long.

He glanced at his watch to confirm that he wasn't being too excessively paranoid. No matter what kind of heart to heart was involved, this was still Dean and Bobby. Neither of them were exactly big talkers and it didn't take twenty-eight minutes to get any quantity of books out of a car that was only a few flights of stairs away. He dug out his phone and hit Dean's number on the speed dial.

As he listened to the phone ring he glanced out the window to see if there was any suspicious activity outside. If a cop car had driven by Dean would have decided to stay low for a bit but there was nothing obviously out of place off the front side of the building.

"Hey Dean," Sam said when he got Dean's voice message. "Just wondering where you guys are...call me."

Sam slowly closed the phone feeling a little ridiculous. Maybe Bobby had just taken Dean out for coffee. It wouldn't be weird, but Dean not answering his phone and Bobby not telling him where they were going was. They wouldn't have gone anywhere after that news story.

After last night he wasn't taking any chances. Sam left the room and walked down the hallway. By the looks of some of the tourists he passed he must have been walking faster than he realized. The last thing he needed to be doing is drawing attention to himself. It might have been Dean's face on the news, but he had to be careful too.

He forced himself to relax as he impatiently waited for the elevator. On his way down to the parking garage he realized he had no idea where Bobby had parked. More than that, he didn't even know what car Bobby had come in.

For a guy that had a yard full of cars, Bobby sure seemed to have trouble coming by one that worked. At least Sam knew he was looking for a serious piece of junk and most of the cars in this garage looked pretty decent.

He finally found an old junker, but there was no way of knowing if it was actually Bobby's. Sam started to feel like an idiot. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Dean and Bobby were probably back up in the room wondering where he was. Grabbing his phone out of the pocket and tried Dean's cell again.

The phone just kept ringing again, but when it went to voicemail Sam noticed that an odd sound in the background of the parking garage stopped. Hanging up, he dialed Dean's phone again and the faint sound started back up. He wasn't imagining the sound, but he prayed he was wrong about what it was.

It took him a while to trace the source. He got close enough to make the sickening verification that it was Dean's ring tone, but he still couldn't figure out exactly where it was coming from. After several calls he realized that the ringing was coming from inside of the service closet.

Sam tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. "Dean?" he called through the door. He didn't get a reply, but his brother's phone was obviously in there.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Sam used his body to block anyone's view of the doorknob while he picked the lock. So much for parking garage security. The guys must have the day off.

As soon as the lock clicked he threw the door open and his heart stopped. His brother was lying in a heap on the ground. It was obvious by the jumble of limbs that someone had just tossed his hopefully unconscious body in here.

Dropping next to Dean, Sam pulled his brother into his arms. Dean's head lolled limply to the side revealing a mess of blood and dirt smeared down one side of his face. It was pretty obvious that his brother had been pushed or dragged along the rough concrete.

"No, no. Dean?"

A moment later there was a sharp gasp as Dean jerked up in his arms. "Bobby?"

Seeing Dean lying there had made him forget all about Bobby. Quickly Sam looked around for a second body but didn't see one. There wasn't exactly a lot of extra room in here with the brooms and repair tools and he'd walked all over the parking garage.

"It's Sam," he corrected.

Sam realized between the darkness of the closet and how unfocused Dean's eyes were again that his might not even know who was holding him. He could only hope that Dean remembered what had happened. Suddenly it seemed as if it hit his brother when Dean urgently latched onto his arm.

"They took him," Dean told him unsteadily. "They took Bobby."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam didn't realize how protectively he had been clutching Dean until his brother's eyes regained their focus and looked up at him questioningly. Then annoyed. Sam might have tentatively agreed to stop hovering, or at least give Dean some space, but all bets were off given that he'd only a minute ago walked in on what looked like his brother's dead body.

It was hard enough when the demons were going after random innocent people, but for them to go right for those closest to him was too much. Especially now. It wasn't like they were strangers to it, but he'd naively hoped that it would have ended with the Yellow Eyed Demon. Sam saw that same sentiment echoed in Dean's eyes as he helped his brother to sit up.

"Dean, what happened?"

"Same demons. They got the jump on us...I couldn't stop them." It sounded like Dean expected him to be mad, or more likely, Dean was just angry with himself.

Even if Sam didn't know his brother, anyone could look at him and see that Dean hadn't stood by and let the demons take Bobby. His brother had obviously fought like hell to try to stop them. That was probably why Dean looked so dejected. It didn't matter how hard they fought. It didn't seem to matter what they did at all.

He wanted to make Dean see that it wasn't his fault, not by a long shot. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Dean wouldn't believe him. Usually that was irrelevant. Dean didn't believe a lot of what he said and Sam usually didn't care, but he had a feeling that pushing this now would just lead to Dean saying more things that he wanted to keep to himself. His brother was discouraged enough without being reminded that he didn't even have control over his own words.

"We'll get him back."

"Or die trying," Dean agreed far too adamantly.

Sam just bit his tongue until Dean abruptly started to stand. "Hey, slow down."

"So they have longer to make sure that Bobby is extra dead?" Dean asked, completely ignoring Sam's attempt to stop him from getting to his feet too fast.

Dean's face contorted as he stiffly moved to stand upright, but he ended up not falling back down. That was honestly more than Sam had expected that Dean was capable of right now.

They were both use to being knocked around. He knew Dean could take a lot more than anyone should be able to and keep right on swinging. Unless Sam thought it was life threatening, he usually gave Dean his space to pretend it didn't hurt, but usually Dean had enough sense to take care of himself.

That was before his brother had gotten more stupidly suicidal than normal. Now he had no doubt that Dean wouldn't think twice about pushing himself beyond what even his body was capable of taking. So if Dean thought he was going to back off anytime soon, he could just forget it. But for the moment, Sam just gave Dean a disapproving shake of his head and remained ready to catch his brother if he had to.

"Bobby is going to be fine, but you have to get cleaned up first."

"Bobby is probably already dead, but that doesn't mean I'm going to soak with a bottle of Mr. Bubbles while they mangle his corpse."

"We just need to clean your face, Dean."

"Just forget about me already! I'm not the ones that got snatched by the Manson Family."

"No, but you are the one that's all over the news, and that Night of the Living Dead look – not exactly inconspicuous," Sam shot back with a raised brow.

At that Dean finally seemed to take stock of himself enough to realize that wasn't sweat he was blinking from his eye. Dean brought his sleeve up like he was just going to wipe the blood away, but Sam grabbed Dean's arm before it made it to his face. There was already enough grit in the abrasions without Dean rubbing his dirty shirt over it.

"Don't touch it," Sam chastised.

"You're bossy."

Aside from his truthful, toddler like commentary, Dean actually listened, but probably just because his brother's mind was already on hunting these demons. At least it gave Sam a second to find something else to clean Dean up with.

"Just stay here a minute."

Sam's eyes went to the clunker he had earlier pegged for Bobby's car. When he walked over and really looked at it he realized that the front door was ajar with the key still in the lock. Dean and Bobby really hadn't had any warning.

He opened the door and dug out the bottle of holy water he knew Bobby would have stashed in there. When he returned to his brother's side his frown deepened at Dean's expression. His brother was way too lost in thought to be thinking about anything good.

Abruptly Dean looked up at him when he noticed that he was back, but just glared impatiently when he saw what was in his hand.

"That better be vodka." But Dean obviously knew it wasn't. "I'm not possessed."

Sam didn't think that his brother was possessed. He just needed something to wash the blood off Dean's face and Bobby didn't seem to see a point in carrying water if it wasn't blessed.

"I know, but you are a mess."

"You're telling me."

Even though he had almost entirely convinced himself that Dean wasn't possessed, he still felt a slight sense of reassurance when Dean's reaction to the water over the cuts was fully human. He was even more relieved to see that the injury was only superficial. The top few layers of skin had been skimmed off, making for a lot of blood, but no significant damage.

The sound of footsteps echoed nearby and they both went on full alert, scanning the area. Sam relaxed slightly when he saw that it was just a couple of kids and their parents heading to their car a few rows over. He used his body to block the family's view of his injured brother.

Again his mind flashed to last night at the diner and Dean's hidden desire for a family. It wasn't fair that his brother had to be standing here bleeding and kicking himself for not having been able to stop a pack of demons while everyone else in this hotel enjoyed a vacation. It wasn't fair that his brother was dying.

"Sam, remember that suffocating thing? You're doing it again."

"Right. Sorry."

He backed away to give Dean some space, but Dean wasn't just looking for space. His brother's anxious stance screamed loud and clear that he wanted to get the hunt started. The problem was they didn't even know who they were hunting or what the demons wanted. The bigger problem was the fact that he knew Dean didn't even care.

"Why are we still here?" his brother asked impatiently.

"Because I'm trying to think, Dean," Sam replied.

He had been going for a calm, soothing tone, but it had come out clipped at best. It would be one thing if they just had Bobby to worry about, but with Dean's recent antics Sam was terrified that Dean was going to find some way to get himself killed.

"Think in the car or go up to the room and think. I don't care. I'm going."

"Where, Dean?" Sam asked quickly before Dean could slip past him. "Where are you going?"

"They gave me an address."

"The demons? For what?"

"To pickup Bobby."

Sam scoffed in disbelief. "Yeah...because that's not a trap."

"Of course it is." Dean didn't have any choice but to admit that, though it was his next statement that was really the point. "But, dude, it's Bobby."

And those words said it all. Dean was right. Bobby would do anything for them and they owed Bobby beyond anything they could ever repay. But that was also what scared him. Sam knew Dean would do anything for Bobby and right now Dean didn't have his usual reservations, which hadn't been much to begin with.

Rescuing Bobby was a given, they just had to be smart about it. Ideally he'd like Dean to stay as far away from this as possible, but right now it didn't look like there was anywhere Dean was going to be safe even if he could do the impossible and convince his brother to stay behind. The only choice was for them to stay together.

"I know," Sam replied. "So how do you want to do this?"

"Fast."

"We need a plan."

"I got a plan."

"One that doesn't start and end with 'get Bobby back'."

"That was my plan," his brother replied indignantly.

"I know. Your plan sucks, Dean."

"All my plans suck. What's your great plan?"

"We have to figure out who we're dealing with."

"We let hundreds of random demons escape from the gate. It's not like we can just look these sons of bitches up. That's why we called Bobby and now they got Bobby. This is my fault and don't say it isn't," Dean warned. "My head hurts too much to argue."

Sam had been so distracted by the blaringly obvious, superficial wound on Dean's face he had totally forgotten about his brother's head injury. Dean had been unconscious in the utility closet so someone had again knocked him out.

When Sam's eyes grew all the more concerned, Dean just glared all the harder. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm f...freakin' son of a bitch," his brother grumbled to himself.

Sam was pretty sure that Dean had just tried to tell him he was fine, but his truth telling brain wouldn't let him say it. That was good by Sam, if he had a quarter for every time Dean had told him he was fine while his brother was trying to hold his own guts in, he'd be a millionaire.

Despite Dean's apparent misconception, whenever he asked how his brother was doing, it was never meant as an annoyance. He actually wanted a legitimate answer. If Dean was hurting he wanted to know. The only time he wanted to hear the word 'fine' come out of his brother's mouth was if it was the truth. Really, he never wanted to hear the word again.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure I'm not. No one here is okay so stop asking. Are you coming or not?"

"So we're just going to walk into their trap blind?"

"Of course not. We're going to sneak in with our eyes open and buckets of holy water. It's a really stupid plan and they're probably gonna kill me, but I'm not going to let them hurt Bobby just because they want a piece of me."

"They're probably after me."

"Obviously not. You know I wouldn't take you if I thought they were. They want the cuter brother."

The corner of Sam's lips upturned just a touch. Dean had actually managed to say something not derogatory about himself. He knew far better than to say anything because giving Dean a gold star for self-esteem would be enough to land Sam on the floor bloodier than his brother.

"It doesn't matter what they want. They're jumping bodies too fast, Dean. We need to get them on our own turf."

"What the Impala? This hotel room? We don't have a turf here, Sam. Even if we did, I'm not gonna screw around with trying to devil trap one of these bastards while the other three are holding Bobby's head over us. We get Bobby back then we worry about the demons."

"Okay," Sam reluctantly agreed. "Maybe they at least won't be expecting us to walk in there in broad daylight." He grabbed the keys out of the door of Bobby's car. "Let's get what we need out of the Impala and hit the road."

"What?" Dean looked like he'd just told him that he was going to have to cut off his own head. Actually Dean probably would have looked a lot less appalled if he had said that. "I'm not abandoning my car for that unholy piece of crap."

"We'll come back for it, but we're not going to get far if someone sees you in the Impala."

"I'll ride in the trunk."

"No, you won't. Where is this place anyway?"

"Back in Jersey."

"You serious? Dean...this is..."

"All levels of bad, believe me, I know. We don't exactly have a choice here, Sam."

That was exactly what he was afraid of.

----

Saddle River, New Jersey

Every muscle in Bobby's body ached in protest from being stiffly bound in a wingback chair that was no doubt worth more than his entire house. He hadn't seen the exterior of the place, but the furnishings just in this room were the richest he'd ever laid eyes on. Judging by the size of this bedroom, the place had to be enormous. He'd been hauled off to a lot of places in his time, but never anywhere like this.

While it was the cleanest of places he'd ever been trussed up in, that very fact had the hair on the back of his neck standing up more than anything. Either these demons were damn sloppy with this desire of theirs to run around in the public spotlight or they just had that much power backing them.

The aching in his bones and burning cuts in his skin barely registered as his mind desperately wondered what had become of the boys. When these things had come out of nowhere, Dean had jumped them before Bobby had even realized what was happening.

The kid had got knocked around something fierce and hadn't stood a chance. He'd seen a couple of them haul the boy's body up but hadn't seen what had become of Dean after that. For all he knew Dean was already dead, but if that was the case, he wouldn't want to be the demon gawking at him right now. It was already clear as day that this thing wasn't firing on all cylinders.

Blood began to seep through his shirt as the demon sliced another cut along his arm. It would be one thing if the demon was looking for info or just wanting to torture him for the hell of it. That he at least could understand, but every time it cut him, it cut itself in the same spot.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he gasped through gritted teeth.

"If there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, Grizzly Adams, please just let me know. Can I get you beer or a fine chardonnay perhaps?"

"You best hope these ropes hold 'cause I ain't in no mood for playing. What do you want to know?"

"I'm sure that thick skull of yours is just a fountain of information." The demon brought the blade of the knife up to his cheek. Bobby tried to pull back, but there wasn't any getting away. "But all you have to do is sit there and bleed. I could do it myself, but it wouldn't be half the fun. Besides, it's a nice little something to help pass the time until your predictable boys come fumbling to the rescue."

Boys. Plural. Dean was still alive, for now. Bobby allowed himself a slight sigh of relief at that. He just couldn't figure if that was the case why the demons hadn't dragged the boy along. Something was even less right here than it looked.

"If you've hurt one hair on that boy's head..."

"It's nothing that won't grow back," the smug bastard assured him with a sickly pleasant smile.

"You even touch him again and so help me, you'll be begging for hell once I'm through with you."

"Tough words for the old guy tied to the chair. Don't give yourself a stroke."

"You're one to be talking, gramps."

This dumber than a stump demon needed to take a look in the mirror. The man the demon was wearing had to have at least one, if not a couple, solid decades on Bobby.

"This is just a little costume. After we're through here I can pick any suit I want, but you'll still be stuck rotting in your same old meat."

"What're you trying to pull?"

"Sorry, my friend," the thing replied with a pat to his shoulder. "I'm not telling you anything because this is your lucky day. You've got a free pass here. Consider it a thank you for the charming company. That and I won't be around to clean up your corpse once it's all said and done."

-----

This area of Jersey might as well be on a different planet from where they had been last night. If not for the fact that he was losing his mind, Dean would have finally been able to breathe. Sam had let him drive once they'd left the stop and go rush hour traffic that had lolled him to sleep. Now they were sailing down relatively open roads. Too bad it was in a crappy excuse for a car.

The cramped city had given way to spacious lots and thick areas of trees ablaze with fall colors. That was all great, but the farther they drove the farther apart the houses were spaced and the more isolated things got. Now they were looking at a whole different kind of bad.

Dean slowed down closer to the speed limit when they started to close in on the address they were looking for. What they found was a one way private drive awaiting them. One secluded in and out and they couldn't even see the house from the road.

"Super," Dean grumbled to himself.

But it wasn't like they had a choice. He pulled the rust bucket of a car off the road to an inconspicuous area concealed by trees. No one would be looking for them in this vehicle, but it didn't exactly blend in to this ritzy neighborhood. They'd stayed in motels smaller than some of the houses they'd passed on the way out here.

He glanced to Sam before getting out and heading for the trunk. They loaded up then headed down the long drive on foot. Soon enough the house came into view and Dean let out an impressed whistle at the real estate.

"Damn. We've been fighting for good our entire lives and we get jack. These demons touch down less than a week ago and they get the freakin' Playboy mansion."

"You sure this is the place?"

"I'm sure it's the address they gave me. For whatever that's worth."

Usually one of them would take the front and the other would take the back, but this place was too big. Too easy to get lost and permanently separated. They would need to be watching each other's backs here.

Sam seemed to be looking for some sneaky way in, but there wasn't exactly a point. It wasn't like his brother could be under the delusion that they were going to get the drop on these guys.

"They already know we're coming," he reminded Sam.

"So what? You just want to walk in the front door?"

"I don't want to walk in at all, but they're probably watching the other doors closer. Once we're in we're demon bait no matter how we play it."

"Remind how this isn't a suicidal plan?"

"I didn't say it wasn't, but you wouldn't wait in the car."

"That's because I'm trying to keep you alive."

"It's a loss cause. Give it up already."

Not even wanting Sam to reply, Dean got ready to pick the lock on the front door, but the door's frame was already splintered. He raised a brow to Sam as he gave a test push at the door, which swung open without resistance. Someone had beat them here.

"Trap," Sam mouthed to Dean.

"We knew that before we got here," Dean shot back under his breath. "If you wanna go wait in the car...."

A ragged cry tore through the halls. Dean instantly locked eyes with Sam. He'd never heard Bobby scream, but a sick knot in his gut was sure that's what they'd just heard. For these demon's sake, he'd better be wrong.

Giving up any pretense of sneaking in, Dean sprinted across the opulent foyer, ignoring the echoing pounding of his boots against the hardwood floor. He headed in the direction of the scream with Sam on his heels. They flew up the hardwood staircase and heard the cry again before hitting the top steps. If he wasn't already on his way, he'd find a way into hell because there weren't enough ways to make these demons suffer on earth.

Sam being able to skip way more steps than should be humanely possible, beat him to the top. Once they hit level footing again Dean surged ahead and only slowed down once they traced the source of the sound. He was about to barge in when his brother's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"What's the plan, Dean?"

"You get Bobby out," he replied while he struggled to catch his breath.

"What are you going to do?"

"Hold them off." Sam gave him that 'no way in hell' look. Like he hadn't seen that coming. "If they wanted me dead I'd already be there. Grab Bobby and go. I'll try to be right behind you."

For once Dean was thankful for this damn truth curse. Without it he knew there was no way Sam would have believed a word he'd just said. The fact was he hadn't actually said much of anything because the operative word was 'try'. There was a fifty-fifty chance that he died here. Too dangerous in Sam's book, but damn good odds in Dean's.

His hand hovered just above the doorknob and he looked to Sam for confirmation. Sam reluctantly nodded an affirmative and stood just out of view from the doorway. Dean shoved open the door and didn't hesitate to rush into the room with a flask of holy water at the ready.

He splashed the water at the first body he saw, driving it back and readying for the next before he realized there was only one demon in the room. It should have registered as a good thing, but all it did was leave him wondering where the other three were. Analyzing the tactical situation went out the window when his eyes fell to Bobby.

The older man was leaning limply against the ropes that bound him, blood soaking into the chair he sat in. Dean's fingers tightened painfully around the flask. These demons were going down begging.

His eyes locked dangerously on the demon in front of him. "I wish I could send you back to hell screaming you sick bastard."

"If wishes were horses, Romeo."

"Maria."

"Maria has left the building. It's David Strieter now. You're going to need to remember that name."

"I ain't your damn secretary and I don't care who the hell you're wearing. You came after my family. Game's over, bitch."

Surging forward, he flung another sizzling gush of holy water that sent the demon hissing back. He glanced over his shoulder. While he didn't see anyone else coming yet, he saw that Sam had managed to haul Bobby to his feet. Bobby looked seriously out of it, but luckily for this demon, he was alive.

"Where are your little freak friends now?" Dean asked.

Some demons were smart. Those were the scary ones, but then there was the other kind. The ones that just liked to hear themselves talk. This one looked smug as hell so he was going off the vague hope that it was a talker, not that he was expecting his luck to kick in now.

"Around," the demon replied casually. "It only takes two to tango."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam and a disoriented Bobby moving through the doorway. Dean shrugged to the demon and backed towards his anxious brother. He'd give anything to be able to kill this son of bitch here and now, but he was going to have to settle for living to exorcize the demon another day.

"Yeah well, I'm a sucky dancer. You're just gonna have to find yourself a new partner."

"I'm sure you'll be able to pick up the steps."

The tone was so obscenely thick with confidence that it was enough to even momentarily stop Dean in his tracks. There was no time to figure out where the demon got off talking like that before the door slammed closed behind him.

"No!" Dean uselessly tried to force the door open, but it wouldn't budge. He slammed a frustrated fist against the barricade that separated him from Bobby and his brother. "Sam!"

"Dean!" his brother shouted back to him

He turned his back to the door to level his eyes with the black eyed thing that was smiling smugly at him. Trap it was then.

"I'm screwed!" he yelled back to Sam. It took a second before he realized what he had just shouted. "I mean...damn it!" 'Okay', 'fine' either would work but neither would come. He was so far from either of those things. "Just get Bobby out!"

"No! I'm not leaving you, Dean."

"I only got one," Dean yelled back.

It wasn't meant as a reassurance, but a warning. That meant there could be at least three hanging out in any corner of this behemoth of a house and Sam damn well knew it. Even his stubborn brother had to realize that Sam couldn't save him if he was dead.

"I'm coming back for you," Sam promised.

"Yeah, whatever. Just go!"

He didn't focus back on the demon until he was satisfied that he heard Sam and Bobby's heavy footsteps retreating.

"Well played," the demon commented.

Just what he needed, an ugly old demon cheerleader. He wanted so bad to smack that smirk right off of the thing's face. If it kept pushing he wasn't even going to care about the fact that it wouldn't do any good. At least it would make him feel better.

Trying to keep it together, Dean just sneered back at the bloodied demon. Bobby had obviously given the thing hell. Good for Bobby. Unfortunately for him, the demon didn't even look a little bothered by the seeping wounds. Actually the thing just looked pleased as punch.

All he wanted was to waste the demon, but the worst he could do was throw some punches and call it names. If he got out of this he was going to kick Sam's ass for not having knocked down that mysterious chick and stolen her knife. Then he was going to resurrect Samuel Colt and kick his ass for not having made more bullets.

As much fun as that all sounded, since he couldn't kill it and he needed Sam to exorcize it, he at least had to try to talk to this demon. Sam and him were just going to keep getting their asses handed to them unless they figured out what was actually going on here.

"Some place you got here," Dean commented with a nod to the over the top bedroom decor. "Totally suits a douchebag like you."

"It serves its purpose."

"Yeah, and what's that exactly?" he asked as he paced away from the demon, but stayed near the door. He was still trying to listen to make sure that Sam and Bobby hadn't hit trouble on the way out.

"They're safe," the demon assured him.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "If you messed Bobby up just for kicks..." He wasn't sure what convincing threat he could truthfully say so he left it at that. "What are you playing at?"

"Just playing you, Winchester. Playing you like a fiddle."

Dean's free hand curled into a fist. If this thing was trying to piss him off, it was working. It stepped closer, looming just a few inches from him. He stood his ground defiantly holding its gaze.

"You should have brought a bigger bottle or shown some restraint," the demon commented with a nod towards Dean's holy water flask. "That one's empty isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted without fully realizing it. "It's stone empty. I just didn't want you to know."

That's why he'd stopped throwing it around. So much for that. He shrugged and tossed the flask over his shoulder.

"You want to screw with me? Knock yourself out, but you shouldn't have touched Bobby because now I'm gonna find a way to tear you apart."

"Yes, I'm sure you will. Winchester's obedient attack dog."

"You just keep pushing," Dean goaded with a clenched jaw. "Why'd you take Bobby?" he asked with barely concealed rage.

"Bobby, Bobby...he's more fun than a barrel of monkeys," the demon laughed. "A hard nut to crack, but he bleeds lovely."

Every muscle in Dean's body was already cocked and the sickening phrase was more than enough to pull the trigger. His fist flew out and connected with a satisfying crack against the self-satisfied face in front of him.

The demon took the hit without bothering to throw up any defense, which somehow just pissed Dean off all the more. He lashed out with his foot, knocking the demon back into the wall.

Before he could raise his fist again the demon grabbed the lapels of his jacket. With a swift jerk it threw him around so their positions were switched. Dean grunted as his aching back smashed into the wall.

The demon leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You do have your daddy's temper."

Dean went rigid in the demon's hold. "You shut up about my dad."

"Oh, but I really think you'll want to hear this. Do you know what they do to hunters in hell?"

"Nothing I'm not gonna try to do to you right here and now if you don't shut your damn mouth," Dean spat back.

"Please, stop, you're scaring me," the demon mocked with a stinging pat to Dean's roughed up cheek.

Dean winced but kept his lethal glare solidly locked on the pitch black, soulless eyes. "You really don't want to let me go now," he warned.

"I'm sure it'll be hilarious when I do, but first, where were we...oh yes, the illustrious John Winchester. Hell just ate him up."

"Shows what you know. My dad got out and I guarantee he beat your ugly ass to the gate."

"Only because he was terrified out of his pretty, little proverbial head. Oh, but the fun we had with him when he was there..."

"You're lying. You never saw my dad in hell."

"Clearly you're the expert on truth. Apparently you can't function without lying. The true mark of a hero. Oh, no...that's not quite right is it? But we both know you're no hero, Dean. You're just a puppet. That's all you've ever been. It's all you're capable of being."

"Yeah, well you'd know wouldn't you?"

"Can't say that I would and about your daddy, maybe it's a lie. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the truth. Either way his screams echoed through the flames and he pleaded for mercy, just like you're going to beg." Dean's jaw tensed painfully. "That's right, I know you booked a flight yourself. Did you miss daddy that much?"

"Yes." Dean growled to himself. "I'm not supposed to be here and neither are you." If this demon kept pushing he'd just spill his entire life story. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"I did you a favor. Have a nice cry with Sammy last night? Did you tell him all about your deep, dark booboos?"

"Let me go, you crazy son of a bitch."

"Calm yourself, Winchester. All you had to do was ask."

Before he knew what was happening, the demon pulled him away from the wall and flung him across the room into the double door. Dean slammed against the ornately carved hardwood before crashing to the floor. He vaguely registered the demon motioning its hand to open the door behind him before casually stepping over him and walking out of the room.

No way that dick was getting away. Dean rolled to his feet, stumbling out into the hallway. Running on full autopilot, he reached behind his back and drew his gun. The demon was just standing there waiting for him. He looked both ways down the long halls before looking warily back at the demon.

"The only one who's scared of you Dean, is you. Rightfully so. The rest of us are laughing."

The demon took a step closer to him. Dean's shoulders were heaving with rage and his finger tensed on the pistol's trigger. A bullet wouldn't stop a demon, but sometimes it could slow one down. Right now he didn't even care about that. He just wanted to shut it up.

"Just like we laughed as they flayed your daddy to the bone and passed out the pieces for dessert. Mmm...delicious."

The demon staggered back as a bullet tore into its shoulder. But instead of backing down, it kept right on laughing. "By the way, thanks for sending him down our way. Now if you could just arrange for Sam...."

There weren't enough bullets left in the clip to satisfy him. There weren't enough bullets in the world. It took a long moment for Dean to realize that he had fired everything he had and that the body was bleeding out on the ground at his feet.

"Smile real pretty for the camera, Dean," it gasped up at him. "Live feed. Modern technology is a beautiful thing."

The gun hung loosely in Dean's hand as he followed the demon's eyes. It took him a moment to search out the small wall mounted security camera that was pointed down the hall directly at him. He didn't have time to process what was happening before the mansion's electricity was cut.


	6. Chapter 6

Even while struggling under Bobby's weight, Sam barely noticed it. The physical weight was nothing compared to wondering how badly Bobby was really hurt and what was being done to Dean right now. He should never have left his brother.

As useless as it was, in his mind he was already playing how he could have done it differently, but they'd had to get Bobby out and he'd had every reason to believe that Dean had been right. One demon with Dean should have meant a pile more with Bobby and him, but they'd made it out of the house and no one had so much as tried to stop them.

Bobby was walking on his own two feet, but just barely. Most of his weight was on Sam, which made the progress through the woods awkward and slow. Even though he couldn't see anyone following them, it didn't mean that no one was. Walking out down the long, narrow private drive hadn't been an option. At least they'd managed to find some less dense areas of the woods to move through. It made the walking a little easier and made their path more difficult to follow since they weren't leaving crushed vegetation in their wake.

"We're almost there," Sam assured Bobby when the primer splotched hood of the hidden car finally came into view.

He'd yet to hear Bobby say a word, which only had him all the more worried, but he didn't push Bobby to talk. Despite the fact that he looked terrible, Bobby was moving okay so Sam was pretty sure that Bobby was just conserving energy. Either that or he was as busy trying to figure this out as Sam was.

This wasn't the first time he'd left Dean with the thing they were hunting, but demons in general were a whole different thing. His brother also wasn't even close to all there and they had already established that these demons were up to something more than the usual. If Dean didn't get himself killed it would be a miracle and Sam was praying for one of those right now.

He still half wondered if getting killed was Dean's intent. It was hard not to think that considering his brother's words and actions lately, but really he knew Dean wasn't actually suicidal, not even close. His brother was just way too willing to sacrifice himself because he thought he was already dead.

When they reached the car Sam found himself wishing for the cumbersome Impala he had been cursing last night. The junky little coupe he was staring at right now didn't have anywhere spacious to let Bobby lay down. It would have to do for now. Awkwardly Sam pulled the door open and tried to help maneuver Bobby into the cramped passenger seat.

"Stop fussing with me, will ya?" Bobby finally grumbled. His voice was ragged, but it was a relief to hear it. "Go get your brother."

He wouldn't have liked the idea of leaving Bobby if the man wasn't covered in blood, but Bobby's shirt was soaked with his own blood. Sam had never seen Bobby hurt, not like this and it was difficult for him to turn his worried eyes away.

"Bobby...you sure you're okay?"

"I've had worse. Go on now."

Even before he could turn to leave Bobby had pulled out another couple hidden bottles of holy water. Bobby tossed one to Sam and clutched the other in his own unsteady hand. It was more than Dean had and it was pretty clear that the demons didn't actually want Bobby. If the demon would do this to Bobby, Sam didn't want to think what they'd do to his brother.

"And Sam..."

"Yeah, Bobby?"

"Watch yourself, kid."

Sam nodded before turning and sprinting back through the woods. Without having to support Bobby he closed the distance back to the mansion in a fraction of the time. He nearly hit the clearing before he realized that he wasn't as alone as he thought. Suddenly he dropped down, ducking behind some of the denser vegetation. The gaudy building was completely surrounded by police.

He had heard the sirens in the distance. Vaguely in the background he'd heard cars heading down the road, but he hadn't been paying enough attention to realize that the cars had been filing down the private drive. They'd had enough going on with the demons. He hadn't honestly thought there was anyway the cops could have followed them here.

It took him a moment to realize that his cell phone was ringing. Quickly he rummaged through his pocket and flipped it out. He moved back deeper again into the woods before talking.

"Dean? What's going on? Where are you?"

"I don't know...one question at a time!" Dean called back over the phone. "Sam, I can't get out of here."

Dean was scared. His brother was too panicked to even try to hide it and that screamed worlds of bad to Sam. Dean had almost twenty years of training and fighting under his belt. They were stuck in some kind of nasty situation on every day that ended with 'y' so it wasn't often they found their way into a situation that one of them couldn't at least think of possible ways out of.

On the few occasions that it did happen Dean stopped thinking and switched to acting impulsively. His brother needed to feel like he had some level of control over a situation. When that fell through Dean could get stupid in an attempt to recover that control.

"Are you still inside?" Sam asked. He prayed like hell that the answer was no.

"Yeah. All the doors are sealed. I'm going to have to wait until the cops bust in and try to fight out."

And there came the stupid. Only his idiot brother could look out the window, see a force of armed officers that obviously knew they were surrounding one of the FBI's most wanted and think that coming out guns blazing was a viable plan.

But he knew that even Dean didn't think it was a good idea and it wasn't one his brother would begin to consider if he was at his side. By the tone of Dean's voice, he was just so desperate that he saw it as the only option, which meant Sam had about thirty seconds to come up with an alternative that didn't end in Dean dying today.

"No! Dean, don't even think about it. Have you looked outside?"

"Sam, go. Take Bobby and go somewhere I'd never look for you. These guys get a hold of me and I'm going to sing like a freakin' canary. Damn it!"

Sam was kicking himself for not having thought about that first thing. That was why Dean was freaking out. He couldn't play games with the cops and FBI like he had before, anything they asked he would tell them. He'd sell out his own brother without being able to stop himself though he'd probably come off as so many kinds of crazy that no one would believe him anyway, which was just going to make things all the worse for Dean.

"Don't go back to the hotel. Don't drive my car...but keep her safe," Dean continued. "I'm going to try to find a back window..."

"Dean, stop. The house is surrounded. There's no way out."

"Thanks so much for the pep talk Mr. Obvious!" Dean's annoyed sarcasm melted back into carefully controlled distress that would have fooled anyone else, but not Sam. "This place is full of cameras. Strieter...I kinda shot him. A lot."

"You shot the guy?"

"I wasn't aiming for the guy. I was aiming for the damn demon! I think the demons cut the power so this guy could go all black smoke without it ending up on the video. I knew he wanted me to shoot his ass and I didn't give a crap..."

"Okay...just calm down, Dean...oh man."

All the other serious charges could have maybe sort of been construed as circumstantial. Even the stuff at the parking lot, was at least weird, but if Dean had blown away this guy in front of the man's own security camera the FBI wouldn't have any trouble pinning the rest on Dean.

"Tell me about it. I might have screwed every damn thing up, but I don't wanna get locked away."

"I know, and you won't. I won't let you, but there's way too many of them to fight."

"If you got a better plan, I'm listening."

"Getting yourself killed isn't a plan. You have to surrender."

"That's your great plan? Screw that. I'd rather spend my last year dead than behind bars dropping the soap for Tiny's evil twin."

Sam rubbed his forehead, but only gave himself a split second to contemplate the complete stupidity of Dean's statement. His brother might be ready to die, but Sam wasn't ready to let him and he wasn't going to stand here and watch his brother be taken out in a hail of gunfire. Not by humans. Not after everything they'd been through. Dean wasn't dying like this.

"Just let them, Dean. You have to let them take you."

"No, I don't. Sorry, Sammy."

"Wait! If they pick you up, Bobby and I can get you out. If you go all Bonnie and Clyde now you're going to hell."

"Right. My FBI's most wanted brother and his accomplice will make a super lawyer team. It's eternal hellfire any way I flip the coin, Sam. How I get there is the only choice I've got left."

He had no doubt that right now Dean didn't have that big of a problem with walking out of that house and getting shot full of lead. As long as it felt like a fight Dean probably thought it was better than waiting around for death to come snatch him up itself.

For Dean it probably was, but what his brother didn't get was that it wouldn't be a fight. It would only be a firing squad. The bigger thing Dean was missing was that this wasn't his last year. Not if Sam had anything to say about it.

"They're just humans and I'm a damn good shot," Dean added.

Dean obviously knew what Sam was thinking. Of course he always did. He was trying to spin it like there was a chance of him getting out, but Dean knew as well as him that he'd get one shot before every officer out there rightfully opened fire on him. The only difference between how they saw the situation was that Dean didn't care how it ended.

They both also knew that Dean wouldn't even take that first shot. Not because he wasn't physically able, but because Dean did everything he could to save lives. There was a hell of a long shot between shooting an attacking demon wearing a human that was maybe already dead and shooting a man that was just human. Dean wouldn't do it. No matter what the FBI thought, his brother would never shoot a man in cold blood.

"Are you even listening to yourself? Even if they just stood there waiting for you to shoot them you don't have that many bullets. Do you even have any bullets left?"

"No," his brother admitted. "But I think I can get close enough to grab one of their guns before they kill me."

"Dean, if you don't promise me that you're walking out of there I'm going over and turning myself in."

"You stay away from this."

"Then walk out. You try anything stupid and I'm calling Henricksen myself."

"Just give me a freakin' minute here, Sam!"

Dean was in full freak out mode. He didn't have to see his brother to know that he was waving a gun around as he paced through the hallways of the mansion. This was no way that this ended well for anyone involved. These cops were wrong about most...well, at least the major things Dean was being accused of, but they weren't wrong about one thing. Compared to normal civilians, as Dean liked to call them, his brother was about as dangerous as they came.

While he usually wasn't a homicidal maniac when it came to humans, when push came to shove Dean was far more deadly than most of those maniacs. Especially when he was armed. His big brother was not someone that you wanted to corner on a good day and right now Dean already had the ugliest kind of death sentence on his head. In his mind, Dean didn't have anything to lose. While Dean might stand to lose nothing, Sam stood to lose everything if Dean made the wrong move here.

"Dean, come on, man. Don't do this to me," Sam practically pleaded.

There was nothing but dead air on the other end of the phone for so long that Sam had almost thought that Dean had hung up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah...okay," his brother replied reluctantly. "Couldn't go all Clyde without my Bonnie, right?" The sincerity in the meaning behind the words twisted at Sam's heart. "Clyde was a total douchebag anyway."

A sad smile crept across Sam's lips. "Yeah, he was," he agreed. "But I hear that Dean Winchester guy is pretty cool."

"Shut up." But he could hear the slight smile in Dean's voice.

"Dean, I'll find you. I promise."

"Don't worry about it. What's one year of hell on earth compared to an eternity of the real thing anyway, huh?" Dean's dry chuckle wasn't fooling either of them. Not even Dean's own brain was buying it because the statement was quickly prefaced with the truth. "Can't think of much worse...you bitch. The things I do for you."

Sam would have smiled again if he hadn't heard the defeat in Dean's voice. Even if Dean hadn't said it Sam would have known that there wasn't a worse thought for his brother.

In Dean's mind he had less than one year left to live and Dean was pretty clear on how he wanted to spend that year. Dean wanted that year to be one big party surrounded by food, booze, women and what family he had left. And fighting. Lots of fighting. Dean needed to go down fighting and he needed to be with what was left of his family, not locked up in isolation in some maximum security prison.

If Dean ended up in hell, he'd storm the gates to get him out. At least prison was an easier opponent. There was no way he was letting Dean walk out of that house thinking that this was the last time they were talking.

"I'm going to get you out."

"Yeah, about that. Do me a favor."

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't come after me. Just leave it alone. You and Bobby got bigger fish to fry."

"Not happening."

"You don't want me to go out in a blaze of glory? Fine. Whatever. It all ends the same way anyway, but buying me a few extra free months isn't exactly priority here, Sam. I couldn't stop that gate from being opened, but I'm not going have you wasting your time trying to save my damned soul while people that didn't have a thing to do with opening that gate are being slaughtered."

"It's not an either or, Dean."

"The few months you could buy me compared to all the innocent lives you could save in that time. No competition. Just go kill some sorry demon sons of bitches for me."

What bothered Sam about Dean's words wasn't just that he was saying them, but the fact that he knew in his hearts of hearts that it was what Dean believed. He wasn't speaking anything but the truth. It wasn't a cover just to get Sam to stay out of trouble. Dean really thought he should be left there until hell came for him.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Whatever you do, don't do anything I'd do."

"I'm not going to just forget about you."

"How could you? I'm totally unforgettable...I'm just not worth it." Sam didn't have a chance to protest before Dean cut him off again. "Well, it's been a real blast, Sammy."

"Dean...Dean!" Sam hissed into the phone, but his brother had already hung up. "Damn it!"

Sam shoved the phone back into this pocket and moved back to the forest's edge. He crouched down and watched the front door anxiously. The SWAT team had arrived while he'd been talking to Dean and they obviously didn't plan on messing around. If they had feed from the security cameras in the house they didn't have any reason to wait for Dean to surrender. He had figured as much, that's why he'd known an extended stand off wasn't an option. Dean didn't have any collateral to hold them back with.

"Come on, Dean," Sam pleaded under his breath.

Less than a minute later there was a commotion at the front door. He could just barely make out the shouting coming from the house.

"I'm coming out. Don't shoot!" Dean yelled from inside.

Even Sam wasn't sure if he believed Dean was really just going to walk out so he sure couldn't blame the cops for looking unconvinced.

There were too many guns aimed at that front door. If just one of those officers got jumpy there wouldn't be any getting out of the way. Sam held his breath as Dean and the cops continued to shout at each other.

He could only make out pieces from where he was, but it was going on for too long. The longer the talking went on the higher the chances of Dean saying something stupid enough that the cops would shoot.

Finally the front door pushed opened slowly. Sam let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw Dean walk out. Like Dean had promised, he came out unarmed with his hands locked behind his head. Sam barely caught a full glimpse of his brother before the police descended down on him.

In an instant Dean was forced down onto the front steps. It took every bit of resistance Sam had to just stand there and watch his overwhelmed brother be pinned down and cuffed with guns trained on him. He didn't have to see Dean's overly expressive eyes to visualize the pained defiance that was no doubt in them now. Sam prayed he was right about this.

----

Why the hell had he listened to Sam? As far as plans went this one sucked. Dean wasn't about to claim that his had been all that much better. It wasn't like he had a death wish and he sure didn't want to go to hell, but tough luck. He had already booked a one way, nonrefundable ticket.

The problem was that he and Sam weren't looking at this the same way. He was sure in his dense brother's head it had been a choice between him living or dying. But whether or not Sam liked it, he was already as good as dead. The choice was just between whether he got to go out like a man with half a chance or be locked away until the reaper came a knocking.

If he hadn't been so sure that Sam had a clear view from wherever the hell he was hiding, he would have done it his own way. Truth be told, it was a bit of a fantasy of his. The fantasy had never ended in him dying, but real life was a bitch. And he was a sucker.

He'd do damn near anything Sam asked. From the second that kid brother of his could talk, even before, Sam had Dean wrapped around his finger. Thankfully Sam had never fully figured that one out. Hell, as wrong as it sounded, Sam was practically his son as much as he was his brother.

His brother didn't see it that way and Dean got that. He and Sam might have been by each other's side for nearly all of their growing up, but they hadn't lived it from the same point of view. Dean had made sure of that. That was why Sam would never understand why he was like he was. He didn't need him to. He didn't even want him to.

Since Mom had died only one of them had ever been the kid. Sam had been the one that had needed to be protected and cared for. Sometimes Dad had needed someone to care for him as much as Sam had. That had only left one of them to make it happen. He'd given everything he had to make it happen, but in the end he'd let it all go to hell. Literally. So, yeah, he was tired.

All he had wanted to do was get in a little fun before he got sucked into the pit, but he wasn't going to make Sam watch him get shot to pieces if his brother couldn't wrap his mind around what was really happening here. Sam had wanted him to walk into the arms of the cops so he did it and as soon as the cuffs clicked tight around his wrists he was done.

Some of the excessive number of officers that had rushed him backed off and a couple stayed to haul him to his feet and read him his rights. One familiar, self-satisfied face was waiting beside one of the cars for him. It was the cop from last night. If that guy, who had only just met him, was so damn giddy he couldn't wait to see Henricksen's face.

"Dean Winchester...and here they said you were unstoppable."

"You can wipe that smug ass smirk off your face. You got my brother to thank for this."

"I really do. I wasn't sure when I saw you in that bar, but I heard your brother shouting 'Dean' in the parking lot. I don't believe in coincidences, 'Agent'. Then you left everything we needed to verify your identity at the scene of the crime. For such a slippery criminal you're one sloppy little prick."

"Not usually, but we were a little busy with the demons."

"The only demon in that parking lot last night was you. I'm never gonna forgive myself for not having grabbed you at that bar. To think how many people would still be alive if I hadn't hesitated."

"Look, man, I'm sorry those people are dead. I really am, but I was just trying to protect my family."

"Heads up kid, most people don't break every federal law this country has and go around murdering and torturing innocent civilians to 'protect' their families."

"Yeah, well, most people don't have to. Welcome to my world."

With a sharp tug on his arms and a guiding hand on his head, the officer pushed him into the back of the squad car. Dean settled into the back, keeping his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing until the officer spoke again.

"The feds were right. You're a regular cutup."

Dean raised his brows to the man. "Oh you ain't heard nothing yet."

"Save it for the confession."

----

Bobby hadn't been able to focus his pain muddled mind enough to place the vehicle noises until Sam had gone. Now he could hear the cars speeding towards Dean's location. No good was going to come of anyone else getting involved in this. It was too late to call after Sam without drawing attention to the boy, so his only option was to hope the kid was paying attention.

This was a royal mess and Bobby still didn't understand the full of it. The demons had wanted Dean to come after them. That was all he got. Why they hadn't just picked the boy up in the parking garage, he couldn't figure, but he was sick with worry thinking what it could all mean.

He'd mostly stopped the bleeding of the biggest gash in his arm when he finally saw the top of Sam's head coming back this way. The relief flooded through him until he saw the kid's devastated face. A moment later he realized Sam had come walking back alone and Bobby's stomach dropped out.

"Where's Dean?" Bobby asked. Sam just collapsed into the driver's seat next to him. The kid wouldn't even look at him. "Sam?"

"They took him, Bobby."

"The demons?"

"The cops. I made him surrender and they took him away."

Bobby looked in confusion to the boy that was still looking everywhere but at him. Sam's statement of making his brother surrender just didn't make any sense. Between all the trouble they got into and the worry they caused, these boys were going to be the death of him. Some things were worth dying for and these boys ranked at the top of his list.

"You two met up again and the cops only took him? You sure they were human?"

"Yeah, they were human...I think, but I didn't meet up with Dean. He um...he just called to say goodbye."

He heard the pain in Sam's words and felt it in his own heart as he processed what was being said. No question what Dean had been thinking, but what that kid thought and what was going to happen were two completely different things. They weren't letting Dean rot in some jail cell. He and Sam both knew that so there was no point sitting around and thinking about it.

"And that's what you're going to let him do?"

Sam shook his head and seemed to pull out of his dark thoughts. "No. Of course not."

"Then get your ass in gear, kid. We got a lot of work to do if we're going to save that idiot brother of yours."


	7. Chapter 7

_Philadelphia, PA – Wharton Motel _

For the last few hours staying busy had kept Sam distracted. It had taken a while to patch Bobby up. He would have said it was impossible, but Bobby was even less cooperative about being looked after than Dean. Luckily for Bobby, Sam had ignored the man's grumbling and shooing away and had finally gotten him cleaned up.

They had gone back for the Impala, taken it to a storage facility and emptied everything from the trunk. He didn't think that they had been followed there, but they weren't in a position to be taking any risks. If the FBI had followed them and found the trunk loaded with weaponry it would only make things worse for Dean.

Now they were sitting in a trashy don't ask, don't tell pay by the hour motel that was so classless Dean would have loved it. If Dean were here his brother would be pitching quarters into the magic fingers while making crude jokes about the constant sound of too-tall high heels clicking down the hallway. Then Dean would have invited a couple of the girls in.

Instead the room was quiet except for the turning of pages while both he and Bobby silently combed through Bobby's books for some kind of answer. What little of his calm Sam had been able to retain was quickly slipping away as he tried to guess where Dean was now.

The news had been covering the local police and FBI agents gloating about capturing his supposedly deranged brother. Bobby had made him turn the television off, but it didn't help. Sam wasn't only scared for his brother, he was angry.

He was angry with himself for having left Dean and at the demons for having gone after his brother in the first place. Now he was even angry with the law enforcement officials. They couldn't know any better. They couldn't know that this was his brother's last year or that his brother had sacrificed his entire life to save others, but it felt like they should. Dean was a hero and someone should know. At the very least, he wished Dean realized it.

Soon the ringing of Bobby's phone had cut through the silence of their researching. Calls started coming in from other hunters who wanted to know why they had the FBI poking around asking about Bobby and him.

When Bobby again put the phone down with a disgruntled sigh, Sam saw that the blood was soaking through one of the bandages on Bobby's arm. Sam set the book he was reading aside. He slipped off the bed and walked over to the table Bobby was sitting at.

"That was Mike Durkee, hunter out in Minnesota," Bobby told him. "Same as the rest."

"Should we be warning any other hunters?"

"And tell them what exactly? That the idjit they all think opened the devil's gate is selling them out to the FBI? Your brother already ain't winning any popularity contests with anyone but demons. They'll be fine so long as they keep their noses clean for a few weeks."

"Man, Dean is going to hate himself for this," Sam said mostly to himself.

"Your brother really can't not talk?"

Sam shook his head and pulled up a chair next to Bobby. "No. When I was uh...testing him, he'd try to just not answer, but his jaw was twitching like he was trying to keep his mouth closed and just couldn't. Other times it was like he just didn't even know what he was saying."

"Maybe it ain't just a truth thing and we're looking to narrow...what are you doing?" Bobby asked suspiciously as Sam reached towards him.

"This bandage needs to be changed."

"Don't you even think about it," Bobby growled. "I can damn well take care of myself."

"Yeah, but you're obviously not going to."

Sam glanced at the scarce remains of Dean's whiskey bottle that Bobby had been going at since they checked in. Bobby was pretending that this wasn't getting to him, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Did you hear me call for a nurse? I mean it. If you think you're giving me a sponge bath I'm getting my shotgun."

"Just let me look at it." Sam once again ignored Bobby's huffing and carefully removed the bandage. "Oh god, Bobby...."

"You do this much fussing over your brother?" Bobby grumbled. "How the hell does Dean put up with ya?"

"This one needs to be stitched."

"We already talked about this. It would heal up fine if you'd just quit poking at it. Boy, I got scars older than you. I know what I'm doing. Just slap a bandage on it and let it alone. Cuts are the least of our problems."

"I know, but someone has to stop you from bleeding to death. Besides, I have to do something, Bobby."

He wasn't talking about the cuts and Bobby seemed to get that because he stopped squirming. The only thing Sam wanted to do right now was to run to Dean's rescue and he couldn't. At least taking care of Bobby made him feel a little less useless.

"I hear ya, kid. You do whatever you gotta."

* * *

_  
Camden__, __NJ – Camden County Jail_

For a brief moment, Dean nearly found peace. He drifted far enough into the fog of sleep that he was left with only the vague notion that the whole of the world sucked. He couldn't remember the specifics of why and instead of trying he was grateful to be pulled deeper towards the numbing bliss.

There was something there in the dark, something that shouldn't be there. He couldn't grasp onto what it was. Really he didn't care. It had been a long time since anything had really been right.

His head had finally fallen forward to rest on his arms when an angry fist hammered down on the table he was leaning on. Dean jerked up in his chair. The sharp clink of metal snapped at his wrists and prevented him from lashing out against the unseen attack. His exhausted eyes focused and reality came crashing back down. He glared up at the piercing eyes that loomed over him.

"I'm not keeping you up am I?" Henricksen asked smugly.

"Obviously not," Dean replied dryly as he rubbed his eyes.

"You're playing with the big boys now. No more naptime."

Dean leaned back in his chair and lowered his eyes down to the table. He was trying to think, but Henricksen's hovering wasn't exactly helping. The agent seemed disappointed when Dean didn't take the bait and tried again in the same mocking tone.

"Ah, come on, Dean. What's the matter?"

"I don't know. I just can't seem to stay awake lately."

"You've had my men chasing their tails from Boise to Kalamazoo. You got to be tired from all that running."

"Yeah, I guess...I guess I am."

"You know what I really want to know?"

Slowly Dean raised his eyes and looked up towards the taunting clock on the wall. He was willing to bet his pool game earnings that the clock hands were actually moving backwards or at least holding still. Casually he counted on his fingers before again meeting Henricksen's suffocating stare.

"I've been chained to a table staring at your smug ass face for five and a half hours. I'm going to hell, but not soon enough. I'm pretty damn sure I'm never gonna see my brother again and if someone doesn't at least get me a cup to pee in I'm gonna piss all over your shoes." He flashed Henricksen a carefully controlled, irritated smirk. "I can't even tell you how much I don't give a rat's ass about what you wanna know."

Henricksen leaned over the table towards him with a self-satisfied sneer. "Oh you're going to hell alright, but don't give up now. We were just starting to have fun. I mean really, I've taken down some serious nut cases. Real cuckoo bastards, but you..."

"Dude, aren't you tired of listening to yourself yet? Your partner ditched you hours ago. Hell, even my new lawyer got bored."

"Your lawyer quit again."

"Huh?"

It was no difference to him. No lawyer was getting him out of this. No one was. There was only one way out. All he had to do was wait and when the close came, it wouldn't be some pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. But it was what it was.

The only thing he was worried about was Sam. He knew final wishes be damned, his little brother wouldn't leave this alone. All he could hope was that Henricksen would manage to bury him so deep that Sam wouldn't be able to find a smart way in. Then he just had to cross his fingers that his brother wouldn't take a lesson from him. Of course he'd be lying to himself if he pretended that wasn't going to happen.

On his own, Sam would come for him. Worse still, without Dean there to stop him, Sam would try to get him out of the deal. All Dean could do was trust that Bobby had his head on straight enough to stop Sam from trying to save him. Bobby had to know that he was already screwed beyond redemption. The only thing to do was to let him go.

Maybe Henricksen was right about him anyway. He didn't give a crap about the million and one fraud, desecration and other misdemeanor charges. Nearly all of them were legit and technically he probably should get busted for them, but he didn't regret any of that. The newest murder charges were a whole different story, but part of him still wanted to put a bullet between Henricksen's eyes.

It was a damn tempting thought considering the guy wouldn't stop insulting and threatening his family. It didn't help that Dean's rumbling stomach was declaring that it would be worth going homicidal freak for some room service.

"Your second lawyer quit hours ago. They both said you were beyond defense and you know what? I couldn't agree with them more. No one's buying this big bad demon story you're selling. You get that, right?"

"Yeah. Got that memo five hours ago."

"Maybe it's time to change tactics?"

"Wish I could, but I can't. How about you? You've gotta be tired of hearing me answer the same lame ass questions. You all out of original material?"

"You've already told me almost everything I needed to hear. I couldn't care less what comes out of your sorry mouth. I'm still just celebrating seeing you chained to that table. It's those guys behind the curtain that can't get enough of your bull," Henricksen replied with a motion towards the one-way-mirror.

Dean didn't know who was on the other side of the glass watching him. It didn't matter. Whoever was there, he was still stuck in here listening to Henricksen drone on.

"They're looking for a new public defender, one specializing in nut cases. If you ask me, it's a waste of time and taxpayer dollars because there's only one way this ends. You're going to spend the rest of your very long, miserable life alone in a shoebox-sized cell. And that's only if the court doesn't do us all a favor and throw you the death sentence you deserve."

Dean laughed. Not just a little half hidden chuckle, but an honest to god, full out laugh that could have easily turned into a sob if he wasn't careful. Henricksen was throwing around threats that were supposed to be terrifying and they didn't even matter. None of this mattered. The guy just had no clue.

"Is that funny to you?"

"Believe me, it's freakin' hilarious."

"In one crazy way or another you already confessed to most of the charges. Why you're holding out on some of them I got no damn clue, but the thing is, it doesn't matter. You've confessed to plenty else that we didn't even have you for. This is the end of the line, Dean."

"You're telling me."

"There's just your brother."

Dean leaned forward in his chair as far as the restraints would allow, the fight returning to his eyes. "We've talked enough about him."

"When you tell me where Sam Winchester is then that'll be enough."

"I gave you the location of the hotel and all our aliases. Hell, I gave you the damn room number. If you can't find him with that your detective work really is crap."

"Still funny. Good for you. Keep that up and you won't have to worry about the trial. Smart ass cop killers are always a big hit in prison. Your brother wasn't at the hotel."

"So he skipped town. Good for him."

"He's not in South Dakota yet either, but don't worry. There's a team waiting there in case he does show."

"You sent a team of federal agents to Bobby's place?"

If Dean had just turned himself in for Bobby the man, who was his second father, would be a hundred grand richer. Instead, because of him, Bobby was half dead and didn't even have a home to go back to. He should have at least let the cops kill him.

"Don't look so sad, Dean. I'll send a team anywhere I can dig up anything on you. Right now you're my favorite customer. While they didn't find your brother, the team did find plenty of satanic mumbojumbo, forged IDs up the ying yang, enough weaponry for an entire army and those were just the things they could identify. A whole world of screwed up in that salvage yard and if there are any bodies buried there they'll find those too."

"You morons have no idea who you're screwing with."

"This Robert Singer guy. Friend of your dad's, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes."

This sucked so many ways. From Bobby's the feds would be able to track their way back to a whole pile of other hunters. If he kept running his mouth there wasn't going to be anyone left to hunt the demons.

"Son of a bitch!"

His foot lashed out at the table leg. The attempted kick nearly threw out his ankle with the shackles and just got a conceited chuckle out of Henricksen.

"What's the matter, Dean? Reality starting to hit home? With all those weapons I'm just wondering how many of you satanic paramilitary freaks there are."

"Not nearly enough, that's for damn sure. Lock me up, shoot me yourself - same difference, but you got no business going after Bobby."

"I love how you nut cases stick together. Makes my job so much easier, but you see, the thing is, I'm willing to bet my promotion that sick bastard murdered his own wife."

"Since Bobby ain't married it'd be kinda hard for him to gank his imaginary wife."

"You're right. Robert Singer isn't married. Not anymore, but unfortunately for his wife, he was. You look surprised, Dean. None of the rest of this strikes you as strange? It's not like it's any different than what your daddy did to your mom or your brother to his girlfriend. So why don't you just tell me how many girlfriends you really killed just for the hell of it."

"No matter how many times you ask the answer is still zilch. I couldn't hold a stable relationship with a girl to save my life. Not with this lifestyle. Killing them wouldn't exactly help."

"Okay, sure. How many boyfriends then?"

Dean let out a sardonic chuckle as he shook his head. "Man you are on some serious crack. I don't care how nice you ask, I'm not going home with you and all this stuff about my family is crap."

"Maybe you need me to spell it out for you. Karen Singer, Mary Winchester and Jessica Moore. All murdered because they got mixed up in your little cult. And you...I guess you just can't keep your pants on. No long-term commitments, just jumping from one to the next. Girl, guy. Doesn't much seem to matter to you. I guess you're just the black sheep of the family."

"You don't know the half of it and your memory sucks ass. Why don't you get a secretary in here so I don't have to keep repeating myself?"

"Come on, Dean. It's so much funnier to hear you say it. Tell me again, who was it that really killed your dear, loving parents and Miss Moore?"

"For the last freakin' time, it was that yellow eyed son of a bitch."

"Oh that's right," Henricksen replied in a tone so placating that Dean would have punched him if he hadn't been chained to the table. "The demon that pins women to the ceiling and then uses some hoodoo to light them on fire. That's a really neat trick."

At that Dean stopped fidgeting agitatedly in his chair. Every muscle in his body tensed as his darkened eyes narrowed on the agent. When he spoke the words came slowly, his tone pure venom.

"I swear to god, you say that again, and I will kill you."

"You keep up that fighting spirit. I'm just trying to get the facts straight here. I mean, this is the demon that had the thing for your little brother, the great demon army leader, and who let your dad trade his soul for yours. He sure got ripped off with that deal.... Feel free to jump in if I'm missing anything here."

He couldn't listen to anymore of this. For over five hours this guy had been tearing his life apart. Henricksen thought this was funny. Some big joke, but it wasn't. It was his mom that had been killed, Sam's girlfriend that his brother had to watch die and his father that had sacrificed himself for nothing. It had all been for nothing.

"Yeah, I thought so. That demon had a little thing for you too, didn't it?" Henricksen asked as he leaned further over the table. "Maybe a little under the table action while your daddy wasn't looking. Is that why you shot 'the yellow eyed demon'?"

"Screw you. You come in here telling me I'm the filthy bastard..."

"Go screw yourself. We both know you were the one that really killed your dad."

When the words left Henricksen's lips, the man was inches from his face. Dean couldn't raise his tightly clenched fists high enough to make contact, but he settled for ramming the table as hard as he could into the agent's gut.

"Just shut the hell up, you son of a bitch!"

Given that he was attached to the table and couldn't really move his feet, the force he had wanted just wasn't there, but he did get a startled jump out of Henricksen. Dean was standing as straight as the restraints would allow, his chest heaving in frustration when the door to the interview room flew open.

"It's under control," Henricksen told the guards dismissively without taking his eyes off Dean. "Our fugitive was just about to sit his smart ass back down."

The agent raised his eyes in a challenge to Dean. He didn't want to sit down because Henricksen had told him to, but he was too tired to stand hunched over like this for long and the idea of the guard making him sit again wasn't all that attractive either. Reluctantly he settled back down on his own.

"You're right," Dean finally spoke after the guards had shut the door. "My dad is dead because of me. But the rest of it...do they give you a script with this crap?"

"I could ask you the same damn thing."

"This isn't all some company line. It's my life. I already sold my soul so there ain't a thing you can do to me that I don't already got coming worse, but you are gonna leave my family alone."

"It's not looking good for your 'family', but hey, maybe the devil made Bobby do it too."

"Not the devil. This isn't bible school, dumb ass. Demon. Demons now. Lots of them, which is why I gotta get out there to fight what I can with the time I got left."

"Oh yeah, that's right. I should really be reaming you about opening that devil's gate and screwing us all over. Sorry, I forgot. Somehow I keep getting stuck up on reality."

The door opened again, cutting off Henricksen, but this time it wasn't the guards. When Dean looked towards the doorway the eyes of an older woman caught his. His brow furrowed as she frowned at him. She almost looked half concerned for him, but there was no way that was possible.

"Agent Henricksen? I'm Doctor Lori Fassler, the psyche evaluator assigned to the Winchester case. We need to talk."

* * *

  
Leaving Dean Winchester to squirm, Henricksen followed Fassler out of the interrogation room. He had known when he had taken up lead on this case that he was dealing with a primo psycho, but this freak kept shocking even him.

This Winchester guy was a complete nut bag. He wasn't even sure how Dean managed to tie his own shoes in the morning, let alone execute the hundred and one offenses he had so far managed to carry out without consequence. Despite their earlier theories, at this point he had to assume that Dean was just the muscle for Sam Winchester because there was obviously no way the guy sitting in that interrogation room could think his way out of a paper bag.

"What did I tell you?" he addressed the small group that had stuck around for the whole show. "These Winchesters are that many worlds of crazy."

Whichever one of them was calling the shots, there wasn't anything about the Winchesters and whoever else was involved in their little satanic crime ring that didn't make him sick. With their smug, self-righteous attitude and blatant lack of respect for human life, they were the worst of the worst. Putting something like them away was what made it all worth it.

"That's what we need to discuss, Agent Henricksen," Fassler replied. "At length and in the morning. Questioning that man further is not going to gain anything. He needs to be moved into holding for tonight."

"He's not leaving that room until he tells me where that fugitive brother of his is."

"I don't think he knows and even if he does, we don't have a choice. Given the severity of the crimes involved, I have been exceedingly patient, but you have been interrogating a mentally incompetent individual for two hours now without any form of legal representation. Proceeding further will only invalidate your own case."

"Last time this guy was locked up, he and his brother got the drop on the guards and split. I'm not letting that happen again."

"Just what is it that you think my men and I do for a living, Agent Henricksen?" the warden cut in. "We're the ones here doing the dirty work of watching the guys you get the glory for catching."

"I'm telling you, this guy is out of your league."

"And you're pushing your jurisdiction. That thing might have left a string of crimes across the country, but those latest victims were local murders and Strieter was one of us. It was Jersey police that brought that man down, not you. Winchester is my prisoner until someone of authority tells me otherwise."

"Fine, but the shackles stay on," Henricksen replied.

"No," Fassler interrupted. "I'm going to have to recommend against solitary."

"You afraid it might bruise his already damaged ego?"

"Like the warden said, David Strieter was an honored officer recently retired from this force. All the men here rightfully admired him and the work he did for this community."

"Are you implying that my men can't be professionals?" the warden countered.

"I admire the difficult work your officers do here, but your men are only human and to be quite frank, your inmate safety record here is not exactly stellar. More body bags come out of this facility than any other detention center in Jersey."

"And more creeps walk into the door. My men do good work, but this place is overcrowded and you stuff enough of these things in a building together and there's going to be violence. That's not on my men."

"All the more reason you can't put a shackled man in a cell with other inmates."

"Look, lady, all our solitary cells were converted. All I got is general housing."

"You can chain him in a closet for all I care as long as you got is secured tighter than Fort Knox," Henricksen said. "This guy is a damn Houdini. Give him half an inch and he'll be out of here."

"Then he should have been taken to the Trenton prison where they have a maximum security facility. This is a county jail. Why was he even brought here?"

Henricksen had asked the same question himself. There were several facilities closer to the scene of the last murder and far better equipped to handle something like Dean Winchester, but the deputy director had been clear that the guy had to be hauled back to this dump.

"We can handle him," the irritated warden said. "That thing killed one of us. Believe me, Agent, I'm not gonna be the one that lets him get the slip again. If he didn't want to end up a target in a prison cell, pretty boy should've thought about that before he started his lawbreaking binge."

This kid was young and healthy. There was nothing right about the nation having to pay to house something like Dean for the next fifty years. Henricksen couldn't argue that the world wouldn't be a better place tomorrow if Dean Winchester died tonight. The world would be short one nasty monster and it would probably be enough to draw out the second of the Winchester brothers.

But he hadn't become an agent of the FBI to become one of the things he hunted. If the guards beat the prisoner to death tonight he couldn't feel compelled to stop it, but he wasn't advocating it either. He was just going doing everything in his power to make sure that Dean Winchester never again saw the light of day.

"Keep guards posted and tell them to do their damn jobs. Breathing or not, just make sure there's still a body here in the morning or they won't even be considering you for a job in mall security."

Fassler looked at him with a sharp glare before turning her eyes on the warden. "For the sake of your career and the future of this facility, he better still be breathing."

* * *

  
By the time Sam got back to the room Bobby had finished the last of the whiskey. These boys were in so far over their heads that Bobby didn't even know where to start in digging them out. They had the Winchester curse for finding trouble that was for damn sure.

The boy that trudged across the room looked as exhausted as Bobby felt. He remembered that Dean had been on Sam's case this morning for not having slept the previous night. That made two of them that had been up for more than twenty-four hours. They weren't going to be any good to Dean like this.

"The lab won't be able to run the tests on the syringe until the morning," Sam told him. "What about the box they had the vial in? Did you find anything on the symbols carved in it?"

"Oh, I identified them all right."

"And it's bad?"

"Only in that identifying them was nothing but a damn waste of time." When Sam just gave him a confused look, Bobby held the box up for Sam to see again. "What's this size and ain't nothing but symbols?"

Sam's sagged down onto the bed as the recognition hit him. "It's just an old tarot card box."

"Bingo. And a demon with an interest in the tarot doesn't help much to narrow our search."

"No, but the box looks like an antique right? Maybe we could trace it back to...something."

"Face it, kid. We both need to call it a night."

"You go ahead. I'm going to try to find some more information on the guy they had Dean shoot."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm not tired."

"And my arm doesn't hurt. Look, Sam, there's not much point sitting around and guessing what these demons want with your brother."

"We have to get a hold of one of the demons behind his," Sam filled in.

"Yep. And it ain't gonna be easy if they don't wanna be found."

"All this time they've been going straight for Dean. Maybe if we can find where the FBI took him..."

"Sam, you can't go running in after your brother."

"You didn't hear him, Bobby...we can't just leave him in there. Not now."

There was a quiet desperation in the words. He knew Sam was afraid that Dean would be looking for any way out, even if it meant checking out of this life all together. Bobby was terrified that the boy had already done just that, mentally at least, which didn't bode well for him surviving this. Still, he wasn't losing Sam again too. Once was enough.

"I'm not saying we should, but what's the good in having you both locked up?"

"At least he wouldn't be alone."

Sam was holding so much grief and frustration just under the surface. The boy's eyes begged for Bobby to make it better and he would have given anything if he thought he could. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to get Sam his brother back and then he was going to knock some sense into Dean. There was just no way that they could get to him this soon after the boy had been brought in.

"With what they think he's done, it's not like they'd take him to county. You know well as I that they have him held up in maximum security. Dean might be hating himself, but your disgruntled brother is sitting bored out of his mind in a spotless, private cell, eating bad cafeteria food, which is more than you can say for us. There ain't no one that's gonna be able to hurt him there no matter how much he runs his mouth."

* * *

  
Dean glanced up when the interview room door opened again. At first he was relieved to see that it wasn't Henricksen returning. That was until he saw the hardened faces of the three uniformed men that looked at him with a hate that he rarely saw in human eyes.

One he recognized as the jerk of a warden that he'd had it out with when he had initially been dragged in here. That man stood by watching while the other two wordlessly unfastened his handcuffs from the table.

"Let's go, Winchester," the warden ordered.

"Already?"

Before Dean was completely on his feet, the warden moved forward and shoved him back down into the chair. Dean glared up at the man who fisted the front of his shirt as he leaned over him, blocking the view of any observers still watching the room.

"You're going to be respectful, boy," the man growled in a low tone that was only loud enough for Dean to hear.

"I doubt it," Dean replied automatically.

He cringed even as the words left his own mouth. It would be far safer for him to bite off his own tongue. The dangerous look in the warden's eyes confirmed just that. Dean waited for some form of retribution, but instead the man just backed off and motioned for him to stand.

Warily, Dean moved to his feet again and forced himself not to struggle when the guards' steel grip latched onto his arms. He shuffled with them out the door and finally got a look at the sorry crowd that had assembled to get a good laugh out of his confession.

When he was led past Henricksen, Fassler and whoever the other jokers were, he expected some kind of explanation, but no one said a word about where he was being taken. Most of them wouldn't even look at him.

All he got was a hard glare from Henricksen and another confusing look out of Fassler. She obviously knew plenty that she wasn't saying and the guilt about something was plainly written across her face. He had a few guesses about what she knew. Suddenly seeing tomorrow wasn't looking so likely.

Given how much more the alternatives sucked, he was okay with dying here tonight and if he did, it wouldn't be her fault. He didn't know a damn thing about her, but her gentle eyes were totally out of place here. She looked like a good person that didn't need to be wasting her time mourning him.

"Thanks, Doc," he told her. "But you couldn't have saved me anyway."

He looked away from Fassler's concerned eyes when one of the guards sharply jerked his arm. "Shut it," the man warned.

The men guiding him became eerily silent as they slowly led him down the hallway. It was empty except for the resounding echo of their footsteps and clanking from his chains. Dean couldn't risk opening his mouth again to ask where they were going.

This was far from his first time in police custody or even in prison for that matter, but it felt like it. It was the first time he was in it alone and this time there was no escape plan. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to be locked up in here with him, but without his brother having his back here he felt vulnerable in a way he never had around guys that were just human.

There were only three of them. He could have easily taken them on a good day. But today was far from a good day and even he couldn't take three armed officers without using his hands or feet. It wasn't like there was anywhere to run to even if he could. Knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to fight when he realized were they were taking him.

"Thanks guys, but uh...I can hold it."

None of them acknowledged his words or his twisting in their grip as they shoved him against the swinging door and into the inmate bathroom. Silent panic swelled up in his chest. His eyes suspiciously scanned the large, empty area and, his personal favorite, the showers.

His attention was abruptly brought back to the men right in front of him when the warden suddenly turned on him. The man didn't hesitate in lashing out to strike him hard in the side. Dean clamped down his jaw and grunted.

"You vicious little prick," the warden hissed.

The guards let him go and each took a step back. Dean looked between the two, but his eyes were again on the warden as the man grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back into the wall.

"Strieter gave everything he had for this force, for this country. The man had spent his entire life trying to make this city better. He'd already lost his wife and you torture him in his own bedroom. What the hell kind of sick freak are you?"

"I'm sorry. He didn't deserve what he got, but I didn't torture anyone. The demon in him tortured my friend to…."

His sentence dissolved into a sharp gasp when the warden's knee drove up for a low blow that was far more than Dean's full bladder could cope with. He squeezed his eyes shut while his body tried to curl into itself, but the warden held him pinned to the wall. The pain and humiliation mingled in his adverted eyes until the warden's hand clamped onto his scuffed up jaw and raised his head so he had to look at him. Dean did his best to force his eyes to neutral.

"That's right, tough guy. You oughta be pissing your pants. You might be able to pull one over on that psych evaluator, but I've seen the reports. Psychologically damaged my ass. You knew full well what you were doing when you carved Strieter up just the same as you did that poor bitch in St. Louis."

"That wasn't me. It was a shapeshifter."

Dean couldn't bite back his cry when warden's elbow came down hard on his already screwed up shoulder. This time the man let him fall in a tangle of chains. He just managed to catch himself on his elbows and knees at the warden's feet.

"This is all a big joke to you, isn't it? You worthless piece of crap."

His eyes remained fixed on the tiled floor beneath him, not all that interested in seeing the next strike he couldn't block if he tried. A boot came up and caught him in the ribs with a crack. He numbly expected another to follow, but instead heard the unmistakable click of a gun's hammer being cocked back.

There was no shortage of ways Dean had imagined dying. Having his brains blown out while being straddle by some guy on a bathroom floor hadn't even made that extensive list, but it looked like it had just shot to the top. The warden bent over him and jammed the barrel against the base of Dean's skull.

"I should shoot you right here and now."

"Yeah, you do that," he rasped in reply.

He closed his eyes while he waited for the warden to end this. If hell was coming anyway it might as well hurry up and get here. He'd far prefer to be tortured by demons than humans. And Sam and Bobby, they'd be okay. He just hoped Sam didn't blame himself, because it wasn't his brother's fault. It was just how the cards fell.

"You're not worth it," the man spat down at him, pulling the gun away and holstering it.

Dean's shoulders slumped, but he nodded to himself. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "I know," he replied to the warden's words.

"Shut your cocky little mouth."

The man's booted foot stomped down on his back, forcing him the rest of the way to the floor. Dean's face contorted in a pained grimace as the heel of the boot ground into his back.

"You're not worth my career, but no one's going to stop the boys on the cellblock from wearing your blood. You scream all you want. No one's coming."

He groaned when the warden suddenly hauled him to his feet and shoved him towards one of the guards. The man just caught him as Dean tripped over his own shackled feet.

"Get him cleaned up and in a suit. Search him while you're at it," the warden told the guards.

"Thanks," Dean huffed breathlessly, "but I've already been searched."

"I'm sure the agents weren't as thorough as they should have been. You're in for one mighty long night, boy."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: While there is nothing resembling explicit content here, the first portion of this chapter does contain some suggestive content and eludes to non-consensual M/M activities. If you find that type of material to be especially disturbing you may want to skim down to the section break that starts the second portion of the chapter.

* * *

Walking without collapsing was the most complicated task Dean could manage at the moment and even that was a struggle. But he did manage because he wasn't going to give the guards leading him the pleasure of watching him hit the ground again. He put all his focus into just moving one foot in front of the other.

The guards were walking just fast enough that it was a struggle for his stiff, shuffling steps to keep up. Even if every part of his body wasn't screaming in agony, with the shackles on it wasn't physically possible to move at the pace the guards set. They weren't in a hurry. Given how much time they'd spent working him over he knew that for a fact. Dean had no doubt the sons of bitches were just getting off on the fact that the faster they walked the more it jarred his battered body.

It was a small relief when they arrived at the main floor of the cellblock. Sure he was going to get beat the rest of the way to hell, but at least he could stop walking. It didn't matter who they threw him in with. No inmate in here could do anything to him that the guards hadn't already done and no one in this prison could take away anything he hadn't already lost.

At least here he could find someone to do what he had not been able to get the guards to do. Dean had tried his damnedest to get the guards to finish this, to finish him, but all he'd managed to do was piss them off all the more. And now he was pissed off too.

He had no concept of what time it was, they'd already taken his watch, but the lights in the cellblock were still dimmed so it was either early or late. In the darkened row of cells he couldn't make out the inmates behind the bars. Most of them had been lying on their bunks, but perked up when they heard the rattle of his chains. Quickly they started to appear out of the shadows, moving to the front of their cells like they were lining up for a show.

The guards jerked him to a stop outside a cell that had two other guys already in it. One of them was still on the top bunk and Dean couldn't make out anything distinguishing about him. It was the guy with the slicked back black hair and a neck like a tree trunk that he already had a problem with.

It wasn't just that the man made Sam look petite, or at least anorexic, it was the fact that the guy was waiting at the cell's door for him. The guy stood there in his grungy uniform looking at him like Dean would look at a double-stacked burger with bacon and a side of pie.

"Back it up, Pedro," one of the guards ordered.

Pedro didn't hesitate in complying. The man backed to the far side of the small cell, but at no point took his eyes off of Dean or let the hungry smile fall from his lips. Dean locked eyes with the man. He was going for threatening, but Pedro just made an unnerving sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh.

Nearly the instant the door to the cell was slid open, Dean was shoved hard from behind. Unable to compensate for the unexpected push, he fell forward, his knees connecting hard with the concrete. Before the vibrating pain had dulled to a throb the cell door had clanged shut behind him.

His vision focused in again and he found himself staring down at a pair of shoes planted directly in front of him. Dean's eyes snapped up to the large man that was hovering over him where he kneeled.

Pedro snickered down at him and Dean cracked. Despite how painfully awkward the movement was, he quickly tried to force his legs back underneath himself. When that didn't work, he turned to grab the bars behind him, using them to pull himself up. His shoulders tensed rigidly and his jaw clenched angrily as he heard a wolf whistle from the man behind him.

By the time he was on his feet the guards were gone. Just as he was about to turn back to face Pedro, large hands came up from behind and forced him forward. Dean's heart thudded in panic and every strained muscle in his body protested as he was smashed against the cold metal of the bars. The guy had to weigh twice as much as Dean. With that much wait pressed against him, it was a struggle just to draw air into his lungs.

He couldn't see the man, but he could feel the hot breath against his ear and his gut knotted once again. "Oh yeah," the man mocked. "Pretty little bitch like you all wrapped up. Must be Christmas."

"Give it to him Pedro!" someone shouted from further down the cellblock, which got the rest of the scumbags riled up.

Dean had been done before he'd even been dumped in here. He was so exhausted he could barely see straight. The last liquid he'd had was the whiskey he'd drank back in the hotel room and he didn't remember the last time he'd seen food. Things that should never hurt were throbbing like hell and he was sick and tired of tasting the tang of his own blood. He was going to bash his own skull in before he let another guy touch him. This one sure as hell wasn't taking him in front of an audience.

Pedro pulled back just enough that Dean's cuffed hands could twist to grasp tightly to the bars for leverage. Running on pure adrenaline, he lifted himself up and kicked both his shackled feet back heavily into the man's shins. It was at least enough to startle Pedro.

Taking the opening, Dean twisted, turning to his side and driving his elbow into the man's solid gut. Dean cringed at the impact. As far as he could tell, it did more damage to his elbow than anything else. It also drove up the volume on the hooting and hollering from the cellblock.

"This little one, he's spunky," Pedro remarked to his cellmate.

Dean took advantage of the quick glance Pedro had shot to the other man. He threw his entire weight against Pedro, knocking the guy back over the toilet and to the ground with a thud. Dean went down too, but the man's body cushioned his fall.

Still running on autopilot, Dean rolled himself back upright and crawled around the momentarily disoriented man. He looped the loose bit of chain that connected his cuffs and shackles around the man's throat.

"Check it out, a dragon slayer is in the house!" some other guy from across the row cheered. Dean ignored them all and focused on the man gasping beneath him.

"I don't wanna kill you," Dean breathlessly told Pedro. "But I'll do it if I have to so let's just get one thing straight here – the next son of a bitch that strips me is gonna die bloody." He looked between the man on the floor and the one still perched on the bunk. "So let's just...."

The guy beneath him clasped onto his wrists with a crushing force. Dean's hands reflexively lost their grip the chain. Pedro slipped his head from the loop and tossed Dean off, knocking him against the wall. The pain in his ribs shot down his side, temporarily immobilizing him. While Dean clutched his side gasping, Pedro climbed back to his feet. The man pulled his foot back and Dean braced for another rib shattering kick.

"Hold up, man," another voice cut in. Dean's cracked an eye open to see that the other man had jumped down off his bunk and was now also standing staring down at him. "Something ain't right here."

"Tell me about. This little freak must be on steroids."

"Nah, Pedro, you're just loosing it. But I mean look at him."

The last thing Dean wanted was anyone else examining him. Ignoring the stabbing pain, he pushed himself up so that he was at least awkwardly sitting. He leaned back against the corner he was backed into for support and stared up challengingly at the two men. It was the first time he really got a look at the second guy.

He realized he hadn't been able to make the man's features out in the shadow because of his dark skin. The guy was a lot smaller than Pedro, fairly lean and solid muscle. Even though this other guy was smaller than Pedro, from their body language it was clear to Dean that the one talking now was calling the shots.

"All I done they ain't never string me up like that," the new guy continued. "Some white boy come in here and they truss him up like a hog? I don't think so."

Dean's eyes had drifted to a distant point on the floor, but shot back up as the new guy reached down towards him. There wasn't anywhere to go as the rough fingers reached down and grabbed the collar of Dean's too large, tattered prison uniform. The man tugged the neckline of Dean's uniform down pass his collarbone to reveal a sample of the dark bruising decorating his neck and shoulder.

"Guards do this?" the man asked as he let go of the fabric.

Dean's eyes narrowed, mostly because he didn't know what difference it made to this guy. "Most of it."

He stifled a gasp when the man grabbed his swollen jaw, but the guy only tipped Dean's head up to see his battered face in the low light. "Damn, they whooped your ass good, boy. What're you in for?"

"Murder, torture, fraud...if it's illegal they got me for it."

"I'd say you were full of crap, bragging like that, but looking at the job they did on you...and man, you kicked Pedro's ass. Nobody can do that even out of chains."

"I'm sure he's still gonna kill me so don't hand out the trophy just yet," Dean replied dismissively.

"I ain't gonna kill you no more," Pedro cut in. "I like you."

Dean grimaced. "Awesome."

"Hear that boys!" the other man shouted out to the cellblock. "Nobody's dying here tonight. You can all go back to bed."

There were disappointed boos and annoyed groans, but most of the inmates seemed to listen and disappeared back to their bunks.

"Murder and torture, huh?" the man asked thoughtfully. "What's your thing, you like little kids or something?"

"I love kids." At the look in the guy's eyes Dean realized what the question had really been and his face twisted in disgust. "No, dude, I wish I had kids. Not that I...forget it," Dean grumbled as he just barely managed to shut himself up. "They tortured me - I didn't torture anyone."

"But you killed someone?"

"Probably…I don't know. They think I killed a lot of people."

"Don't matter how many they think you did, they didn't do you up like that for wasting no one around here."

"I shot a couple of possessed guys when my brother and I first got into town, but it was this other guy, Strieter. That's the one the locals are pissed about. They should be."

"Strieter?" the guy asked disbelievingly. "Not David Strieter?"

Dean nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. That's one."

"You killed David Strieter?"

"If he wasn't already dead before the demon possessed him."

"Man, I tell you, I don't know crap about no demons, but that asshole had it coming. Son of a bitch murdered my brother. He shot a lot of guy's brothers. He's really dead?"

"Yeah."

The man reached down again, but this time it was to help Dean to his feet. He clapped a hand onto Dean's shoulder. Dean couldn't keep down the pained groaned as the friendly gesture jarred his aching back. The man actually looked apologetic.

"They try to touch you again, they don't live to talk about it. You got my word on that."

"Thanks...I think. But I don't want anyone else to..."

The adrenaline had dissipated from his system, leaving him shaky and lightheaded. He hadn't even realized it until he was on his feet and the weight of his body was suddenly too much to support. Dean wavered, his knees buckling. He would have collapsed to the ground, but the man grabbed a hold of him.

"Hang on, man." The guy led Dean over to the bunks and eased him down onto the lower one. "Here take Pedro's bed."

"Hey!" Pedro protested.

"Shut your mouth. Boy's a damn hero."

"How long you staying, Hero?" Pedro asked, apparently just worried about when he was going to get his mattress back.

Dean uncomfortably settled on the lower bunk, resting his elbows on his knees to support his head, willing the wave of dizziness to pass. "I don't know. I was supposed to die tonight."

"You ain't dying on my watch," the leader assured him. "If you live, they sending you to Trenton?"

"I got no clue. The FBI wants to send me to supermax."

"Damn. That there's a tough break," the man told Dean with a shake of his head. "I'd have my boys spring you if they could, but supermax...man, that's even out of our league."

"It's the thought that counts," Dean replied wryly, almost letting the corner of his mouth turn up a touch. "Doesn't matter. I'm dying anyway."

Somehow it really meant something that this con would offer to spring him. As much as he'd been beat down here, a gangster offering a jailbreak came off as downright compassionate. With all the hate and disgust he'd been hit with, he found himself longing for that pity he had detested seeing in Sam and Bobby's eyes.

"You sick?" the guy asked as he looked Dean over again.

"No. I just sold my soul."

"Welcome to the club. It's James, by the way, and you already met my pal Pedro."

"Yeah...real scary guy. No offense," he said with a glance towards Pedro. "I'm Dean."

"Hey, I thought so. I know you," Pedro piped in, pointing a finger towards him. "You're Winchester. I saw you on TV." Pedro looked to James. "This muchacho is like hardcore." His eyes shot back to Dean. "You're some satanic serial killer or something right?"

"Actually, I'm a demon hunter."

"Sure, me too," Pedro chuckled. "I knew I liked you. You're funny."

"No wonder they hate you," James remarked. "So here's the thing. I'm all about religious tolerance. Your freaky demon, satanic crap, that's all cool by me. The thing is, I've been trying to shoot Strieter up for years and I swore on my mama's grave that I'd be in debt to the guy that put my brother's killer six feet under, you get me? 'Cause my little brother, I was all he had and it should've been me Strieter shot up."

Dean looked down and nodded, understanding all too well. He looked up again to meet James's eyes before he spoke. "I have a little brother too."

"Then you get what I'm saying. I'm gonna see you through the night here, but if there's anything else, you just say the word and I'm there."

"I know it's a stupid question," Dean replied after a long moment of hesitation, "but are there any trustworthy felons in here that could get a message out?"

"I'm checking out tomorrow. Just for a little while. I need a vacation from this loco," Pedro replied, jutting his thumb towards James.

James seemed to pick up on Dean's confusion and offered an explanation. "Pedro, he might look tough, but he's just here for the free food and board. He'll go out, stretch his legs and when he gets hungry he does some stupid crap to get back in here."

"Cheapest rent in town," Pedro confirmed. "But they ain't got no alcohol or no bitches in here and damn, I'm overdue, yeah?"

"Okay..." Dean replied.

He did his best to push down just how uneasy the conversation was making him. It wasn't that he had a fundamental problem with anything Pedro was saying, hell he agreed on some accounts. It was just the fact that a few minutes ago the guy had been ready to do him.

"You need a message out, I'll get a message out," Pedro promised.

Dean had just met this man and Pedro obviously wasn't playing with a full deck, but there was a strange sincerity in his words that made Dean believe him. Maybe the guy really did just need to get laid or maybe he was a flaming psycho. Either way Dean wasn't looking at a whole lot of other options here.

"You need a hit on someone?" James offered. "I know some guys, they do quality work."

"Uh...no, I'm good, thanks," Dean assured the man.

The things after his brother and Bobby were way beyond anything James's buddies would be able to handle. Dean went silent for a moment as he unlaced his boot. He pulled back the boot's tongue and slipped out his necklace from where he had hidden it. The guards had taken everything else and not in the usual way that implied he was ever going to see it again. He had stolen the amulet back when they'd been arguing about what to do with him.

His finger ran over it hesitantly before he held it out to Pedro. He desperately needed to keep it, but it wasn't like he was going to be able to slip it past the guards at supermax. Having one set of guards pry it away from him had been enough. He wasn't going to let anyone else take the last part of his brother he'd see. At least this way it was his choice and the amulet had half a chance of getting back to Sam. It would also be the one thing that could convince Sam that Pedro wasn't lying.

Pedro took the necklace and curiously ran the amulet between his oversized fingers. "I don't get it," he finally concluded.

"It's not worth crap so don't bother pawning it," Dean told him. "It's a family thing. I want it to get back to my brother and I need you tell him something, but he isn't gonna be easy to find."

----

Sam had laid in bed for what couldn't have been more than an hour, two at most, but it had felt like an eternity. He had just laid there staring towards the ceiling that somehow looked as grungy as the room's discolored carpet. In the darkness he couldn't see the filthy room. All he could hear was a deep snoring. The sound was just another reminder that it wasn't Dean lying in the other bed. Sam was here doing nothing while his dying brother was out there alone.

He hadn't bothered to take his clothes off. The only reason he had laid down at all was because Bobby had demanded he get some sleep and Bobby wasn't an easy man to say no to. He had acquiesced by taking his shoes off and closing his eyes until Bobby had pulled the curtains and turned off the room's lights. While he had opened his eyes once the room had gone dark, he had remained lying still until he heard Bobby's snoring settled into a steady rhythm.

At that point he had thought that he could get up, but it turned out that Bobby wasn't as deep of a sleeper as Dean was. The first time he had gotten up Bobby had asked him where he thought he was going. Sam had pretended to go to the bathroom and then grudgingly returned to the bed. He glanced to the clock and stifled a groan. It had only been forty-five minutes since he had first laid down. He wasn't going to make it through the night.

Despite that assertion, even his racing mind could not prevent his exhausted body from giving in to sleep. Before Sam had even realized that his eyes had closed, he was awaking to the light of dawn slipping beneath the curtains. The only positive was that he had been too exhausted to dream. Not that it helped anything.

He didn't need to dream to see the complete defeat in his brother's eyes or to hear their last conversation repeating over and over in his head like a broken record. It didn't take dreaming to play over how many things he could have and should have done differently, not just yesterday, but for a long time back.

At that he realized that part of him was already convinced that he would never see Dean again. No. Dean wasn't winning this one. Sam suddenly shot upright on the bed just because he couldn't lie there a moment longer. He glanced over to Bobby's sleeping form, the battered man's chest continued to rise and fall at a gentle, rhythmic pace.

Quietly Sam slipped off the bed. He grabbed his shoes and gave a parting glance towards Bobby before he padded across the room. With a practiced ease, he silently undid the security chain and slipped out into the hallway. Once outside the room he put his shoes on, ignoring the leer of the passing woman who was wearing a skirt at least a couple sizes too small.

He shouldn't be going out. That much he knew, but more than that he knew he was going to lose his mind if he didn't. He just needed to clear his head. Really he just needed to find his brother and he was going to find Dean. Once he did he was going to get Dean out of his deal. That was the only way this could end. The last twelve hours had been unbearable without Dean at his side. Sam couldn't live a lifetime like that.

The crisp early morning air was refreshing, but the large quantity of people already milling about the streets had every one of his nerves on edge. He only gave himself a couple minutes before heading to the nearest coffee shop. His mind screamed that every person that looked his way recognized him, but in reality none of them gave him more than a passing glance, if that.

By the time he had made it back to the room a furious face was awaiting him behind the door. He barely got through the doorway before Bobby's wrath descended. The thing was, Sam didn't care. He was willing to humor Bobby to an extent, but this was about finding Dean and no one, not even Bobby, was going to stand in his way of doing that.

"Do I have to tie you to that damn bed?" Bobby growled at him.

"I slept," Sam replied dismissively as he handed one of the cups of coffee to Bobby.

He could tell by the glower that remained on Bobby's face that the man wasn't going to take to his bribes with the ease that Dean always did. Nonetheless Bobby accepted the cup before stiffly walking over to sit back on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Like I'm not gonna sit around answering stupid questions."

The rough quality to Bobby's voice and the tentative way he held his own arm was answer enough. Bobby no doubt felt as bad as he looked, probably even worse considering last night. The man rubbed his bloodshot eyes and Sam momentarily set his coffee down.

Without asking, because he knew Bobby would say he didn't need them, Sam dug some painkillers out of his bag and walked over to set them on the bed next to Bobby. Sam hadn't offered them last night only because Bobby had been too busy anesthetizing himself with the last of Dean's liquor supply.

Sam moved over to the table and opened his computer. Eventually Bobby gave up and knocked a few pills out of the bottle before tossing it aside. Bobby lumbered off into the bathroom for a while and looked marginally better when he came back out. Sam wondered if Bobby would even be pleasant on a good morning.

When he got Dean back he was going to remember not to curse his brother's inability to get up and going early in the morning. Even at the crack of dawn, Dean was downright cheery compared to Bobby.

Bobby put his hat on, took another gulp of coffee and finally looked over to Sam. "Finding anything useful?"

With a hesitant nod, Sam looked up from the screen. "Yeah. It wasn't hard to find him."

"Dean?"

"No, David Strieter, the last guy Dean shot. It's just..."

"Spit it out, kid."

"It's nothing. There's just some serious contradictions in the information about him. Some say he was a pillar of the community and others say he was a crooked cop turned politician."

"That guy was a cop?"

"Um, yeah..." Sam's eyes returned to the computer for a moment. "Police chief. Seventeen years, recently retired…his money and the estate were from his family."

"Dean shot the former chief of police?"

Finally the true meaning of Bobby's question registered with Sam's tired mind. Everything Bobby had said about Dean sitting cozy in his jail cell couldn't be further from the truth. His brother wasn't only sitting bait for demons, but would be a target for the humans too. Sam shut down the computer and looked back to Bobby, a new urgency in his eyes.

"We've gotta get Dean out of there."

----

Henricksen couldn't believe that he'd been dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn just to listen to crazy people argue. He'd thought Dean was the king of crazy, but these psyche evaluators with their hypothetical mental analysis really took the cake. Sitting in the station's conference room, he tried to just focus on the taste of the cheap, bitter black coffee in his cup and keeping his mouth shut so they could hurry this along.

He couldn't wrap his mind around why the Winchesters' motivation even mattered. Criminal profiling could be a valuable investigative tool when used to catch the criminals, but once you had the criminals you dealt with the crime, not the fact that their mommy didn't love them. No one here was arguing that Dean Winchester wasn't off the wall nuts, they apparently just couldn't agree on how much of a whacko he was.

"Agent, we have reviewed the interrogation tapes," Fassler attempted to explain. "And we have all reached the same conclusion. That young man is clinically insane. He was not telling you odd stories just to try to throw you off from the case. There's no question that he honestly believes everything he was saying."

With a frustrated sigh, Henricksen set down his cup and glared at the gullible doctor. "You can't tell me someone that demented can't pull one over on a polygraph."

"I'm not talking about the polygraph results. I have been working in this field for thirty-five years and I have never encountered anyone, of any mental state, able to keep a story that long and convoluted straight. It was nearly six hours of straight interrogation. You and the others asked him every possible question, in every possible way, and he did not say one contradictory word."

"You've gotta be a total whack job to pull off what that guy has."

Fassler turned in her chair to fully face Henricksen, the determination set on her face. "He's delusional, paranoid – I could spend another six hours listing all the personality disorders he displays partial symptoms of, but it appears that his mental capacity is completely intact except for...."

"Except for that annoying little fact that he kills and tortures people for fun."

"None of us are ignoring what he has done nor are we justifying it, but I am telling you that is not the sociopath that you described. I honestly believe that he genuinely sees what he is doing as some kind of duty."

"That's fascinating, but I got a duty too," Henricksen shot back. "A duty to keep monsters like that away from innocent people. He's a complete psycho. What else do we need to know?"

"On the contrary, this is a mentally sound individual with an extremely distorted worldview. It's reasonable to assume from the background that we have on him that this is not a typical mental disorder, but rather something he was raised into."

Henricksen hit his hand down on the arm of his conference chair. "I don't care what sob story he's got! Those people aren't any less dead and their families don't care how bad this guy got mind screwed as a kid."

While Henricksen could see Dean for what he really was, somehow the guy kept managing to win over otherwise intelligent people. Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer and Dean Winchester. As unfortunate as it was that it had been necessary, the only thing saving the otherwise circumstantial case against the Winchesters was the last murders.

Without those verified murders, even with the full confessions, there were too many people like Fassler that would have quibbled over the weird odds and ends that followed the Winchesters around. While it had taken an ugly route to get there, this case was now as concrete as they came so he wasn't sure why any of these doctors were continuing to waste his time.

"This isn't about excuses," Fassler said. "This is about the legal system – the one you and I represent. I have already recommended to the judge that your request of transfer to Nevada be denied and have instead suggested that we proceed with a full psychological evaluation to be followed by a competency hearing."

"You want to run that by me again? Are you trying to get this freak off on insanity?"

"If legal council cannot assist him, which has been proven to be the case, there is no way that you will be able to convince a judge that he is competent to proceed with a trial even for an insanity defense."

"Then I'll find someone to tell me he can."

"Face it, Henricksen, you show any other evaluator those interview tapes and they're going to tell you the exact same thing," Doctor Jones countered. "This man needs to be transferred to psychiatric hospital equipped to handle violent offenders."

Henricksen hadn't paid a lot of attention to Jones's introduction, but the man was in charge of one of the local crazy houses. Of course the doctor wanted Winchester, and the taxpayer dollars that came with him, sent there.

"No mental facility can hold him."

"We can legally hold him for up to four months, by which point we'll have to determine whether or not he'll ever be competent to stand trial," Jones replied.

"I mean physically. There's no way anything short of supermax is going to be able to contain him. This guy is scary good and he's insane. Just hook him up with some good anti psychotics and let's get this done."

"If I am correct about the cause of his mental state, medication is not going to fix him," Fassler countered. "That is why he may never be competent to stand trial. We will just have to wait and see."

"All we'll be waiting to see is how long it takes him to bust loose."

"It's simply not our call."

"Don't you all ever get tired of protecting the monsters?"

"I understand and share your frustration," Fassler assured him, "both for the recent victims and the fact that there was no one there to save that boy when there was still something to salvage."

"We're all trying to do the same thing here, Henricksen," Jones added. "And Doctor Fassler is right. Since any attempt to put Dean Winchester to trial would be overturned, the only legal option is to prove that he is too psychologically damaged for anything short of permanent housing. Otherwise he cannot be held in a mental facility against his will. Not indefinitely."

"So what? That's it?" Henricksen asked. "We ship his crazy ass off to some psyche ward?"

"If that is what the judge decides," Fassler confirmed. "Either way, I don't believe that we have anything else to discuss."

Henricksen couldn't agree more. The team of crack psychiatrists dispersed, leaving him stewing in the conference room. He took another sip from his coffee as he stood leaning back against the table. The door to the room opened and he expected to see his partner, but instead it was another one of the doctors. He just managed not to sneer.

"Good morning. You're Agent Henricksen?" the man asked.

"I am...who the hell are you?"

"I'm Doctor Wroten. I was wondering if I could comment on the case. We have a test facility that I think would be an exceptional resolution to the Winchester problem."

"You do?" Henricksen asked skeptically as he again set his coffee aside. He pushed himself away from the table to address Wroten. "This guy doesn't deserve a cozy bed in some psyche ward."

"Agent Henricksen, I do not believe you understand what is being suggested."

"Oh, I hope you'll enlighten me."

"With the exception of its location within the city, our hospital is in all meaningful respects an experimental supermax facility. We are in a special position to take some civil liberties regarding offenders of Dean Winchester's status. He has already proven himself to be a considerable enough danger to society that we can...make certain arrangements."

"You're kidding me, right? What clearance are you operating under?"

"This is no joke. We are a federal run facility. Fully accredited, I assure you. But I think our authorization to bypass certain portions of the traditional legal system might be of the greatest interest to you and your superiors."

Henricksen glanced around the otherwise empty room, still waiting for a punch line. The fact that this guy had snuck in after the others had left made it clear that he wasn't with them. Honestly Henricksen didn't know what to think about this guy that looked and sounded a bit too much like a used car salesman, but he couldn't deny that he liked the sound of what the man was offering.

"You can hold him indefinitely?" Henricksen asked after a moment of consideration.

"It won't be necessary, but yes."

"I got to make some calls. I'm going to need some serious authorization on this before I turn that thing over to anyone's custody. But if you check out, Dean Winchester is all yours."


	9. Chapter 9

Henricksen leaned heavily over the table, reading the papers once more. He had flipped through them half a dozen times already. It was just paperwork to seal the deal, it shouldn't even matter what the endless pages of fine print read, but between the suspicious wording and after listening to an hour of rebuttal from Fassler, it was just enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Agitatedly he tapped his pen against the table.

"Is there a problem, Agent Henricksen?"

Glancing up, he was met with the weasely grin that didn't seem to leave Doctor Worten's face. That smug smirk was really starting to get on Henricksen's nerves. Everything about the doctor was. Everyone in this place was just plain out of their minds. It was all the more reason to sign the papers so that he could wash his hands of Dean and get the hell out of dodge. He still had another Winchester to hunt down. There was just the annoying little fact that not a single provision in the document was legal for an institute on American soil, let alone one in the middle of Jersey.

It was all written in legal fashion, heavily laden with 'shall' and 'therein' and everyone's ass covered by miles of red tape. Everything about it was right except for what it said. Whoever had written up this paperwork hadn't even bothered to read the Constitution. It was a ballsy document to actually print on paper and all the legal language in the world wasn't going to make it hold up in a court of law.

"You tell me," Henricksen replied as he rose to his full height and glared suspiciously at Wroten. "What is all this?"

"As I said earlier, this is merely part of the transfer protocol."

"Yeah. Right. And I'm the tooth fairy. Transfer paperwork I get. This..." Henricksen grabbed the oversized packet of papers and waved it at Wroten. "This I don't get. How about you tell me what's really going on here? Your own damn paperwork says I'm not authorized to sign it."

The forms said that the prisoner was being admitted into a voluntary government rehabilitation program. The only possibly true statement there was that it was a government program. The thing they were currently holding in custody wasn't volunteering for anything and everyone already knew there was no rehabilitating Dean Winchester.

"We have authorized you as a signer."

"I might not have a fancy PhD, but I can read. There's two choices here," Henricksen replied as he slapped the papers back down on the table. He turned them to face Worten and pointed to the signature spaces. "The 'patient' or someone with his power of attorney." Henricksen's eyes shot up to meet the doctor's. "Do I look like his mother?"

"As you are already aware, the subject's only surviving family is his fugitive brother who is at the same time unreachable and without the legal capacity to make this decision."

"So there's no signer. You want to tell me why I'm holding a pen?"

"You were the lead on the case." Worten reached over and flipped the page. "As it states here, our oversight committee allows five signers to overrule the voluntary admittance requirement for someone in Mr. Winchester's special circumstance."

As many times as Henricksen had flipped through the papers he hadn't honestly seen that section. It was printed on the backside of the paper when no other portion of the document was double sided. He couldn't help but think that it was purposefully hidden there.

After skimming through the verbiage his expression only became more skeptical. One of the signature slots was for the patient's psych evaluator. She'd stormed out of here after making it clear to the world that she opposed every part of this. That woman was as gullible as they came about Dean Winchester, but he had to grudgingly admit that she had made valid legal arguments.

"You're crazier than the Winchesters if you think hell isn't freezing over before Fassler is going to sign this thing."

"Doctor Fassler has given notice of her retirement. I have been assigned as Mr. Winchester's new evaluator."

"Why am I not surprised?" Henricksen muttered to himself. He glanced down at the form once more before shooting another look at Worten. "And who's playing the part of his make-believe lawyer?"

"May I remind you that your own Deputy Director Steven Groves has already signed this document? I fail to see the issue. You were the one so adamantly pushing for the lock to be thrown away."

"I'm all over locking Dean's crazy ass up. In prison. This isn't prison," Henricksen replied with a stabbing finger to the paperwork. "I have no damn clue what this is." He turned the document back so that he could flip through the pages before he began to read, "'The citizen shall henceforth become government property'? You got me authorizing surgery, medication, testing...this is paperwork for a guinea pig not an inmate."

"Mr. Winchester is not an inmate, you said it yourself, Agent Henricksen – he is not even human. He's a monster."

"Don't you dare say he's one of those demons he's been spouting off about. Dean Winchester is a murdering crazy, deranged whacko, but he's still just as human as the rest of us."

This insane doctor even had him defending that thing. If he could find fault with this then there was no way it wouldn't be scrutinized to the point of dismissal if anyone else got a hold of this packet of paperwork.

"I've been to hell and back chasing this freak. No way am I letting him skate out on a technicality," Henricksen continued. "We do this straight and we get him put away for real."

"If we do this, he will be gone - for real. He disappears and no one else gets hurt. There won't be any questions. There's no one aside from a couple of wanted fugitives to miss him."

Henricksen's eyes narrowed. "I sign this and Dean Winchester no longer exists?"

"For all intensive legal purposes, yes."

"Even if I did buy that, you can't seriously think I'm stupid enough to believe that I'm under legal authority to co-sign this death certificate."

"I assure you that you are."

"This guy's still alive, right?"

"Biologically speaking."

"You know what? You're twice as many worlds of crazy as he is. You doctors want to play god, knock yourselves out, but you're gonna have to get that warden in here to sign."

With annoyance, Henricksen realized that the conceited smile never did leave the doctor's face. "If you truly believe that there is another viable alternative for dealing with Mr. Winchester, by all means, do not sign the documents. However, Agent Henricksen, I think you realize as well as I that this is the safest option for dealing with a sociopath of this caliber."

-o-o-o-

Dean jerked, struggling against glimpses of images he didn't understand. Vivid flashes like memories, but clearer, and they weren't his own. Girls being held down, begging, struggling beneath him. He tried to escape the gruesome snippets of mutilated bodies, of people being ripped apart with his own hands. The victims pleaded desperately to be saved not by him, but from him. He saw Bobby screaming as he sliced the blade across the man's blooded skin.

When he began to surface it felt like he was returning from a different world, or at least another life. He wasn't sure which one was real. The one he was waking into hurt like a royal son of a bitch, but at least it was his pain and not someone else's.

Every aching nerve in his body reawakened at once. He couldn't move his arms or legs right and it smelled like he was sleeping in an outhouse. With a pained moan, he tried to turn away from the annoying sensation that had originally awoken him. Slowly he realized that someone was shaking his arm with a growing persistence.

"Seriously, Sam," he grumbled. "Knock it the hell off."

"Yo, Hero, I ain't your Sammy. Get your ass up, bitch or I'm eating your breakfast."

He blinked his dry eyes, but didn't quite open them. His hand went up to rub his face, but was stopped short by the sharp snap of the chains around his raw wrists. Suddenly his startled eyes flew open. He uncurled himself and shot up on the bunk, just avoiding hitting his head as he scrambled further back on the dirty mattress and away from the large hand on him.

For a split second he looked with feral eyes between the two strange men starting down at him. He was visually searching for anything he could use as a weapon until he registered that the men weren't guards.

"Damn, man, you sleep like the dead," James remarked.

"Not usually." Dean winced as he readjusted his position. Slowly he moved his aching body back to the edge of the bed, giving his pounding heart a second to slow before he looked back up at his cellmates. "What's going on?"

"Pedro brought you back some chow from the mess hall."

"The guards came? I didn't hear anything."

"You were out like my mama after an all night bender, but them bastards came alright. They told us you couldn't go to the mess hall," James replied. "Guards thought they'd get you alone, but I told them where they could shove their batons. I hung with you while Pedro brought back the goods."

Despite the throbbing of his head, Dean furrowed his brow as he looked between the two men. "Why would you do that for me?"

"I told you I had your back, man, and you said they hadn't fed you. We take care of our own."

"I couldn't do nothing about their nasty ass cooking though," Pedro apologized as he dug into his pockets. "Tastes like crap, might even be crap, but it's kinda food, yah? The sausage was okay, but I ate it."

James smacked Pedro solidly on the back of the head. "Damn, Pedro, I seen elephants at the zoo smaller than you. With your fat back you couldn't skip one meal?"

"Hey! You lay off me, Jimmy Boy. I gotta keep up my fine form, the ladies are waiting. 'Sides, Hero slept on my bed."

"Yeah...thanks for that," Dean cut in. "I don't think I could've handled the floor," he admitted with a tender touch to his ribs.

"Es nada. I'm moving out anyway," Pedro shrugged dismissively.

If Dean had any sense he would have been disgusted by the smuggled, squashed paper towel wrapped food that Pedro was digging out of his grungy pockets, but his stomach was in full out hunger pangs. Hell, right now he probably would have just eaten the napkins. He didn't even bother to pick off the bits of cheap paper towel that flaked off and stuck to the rubbery scrambled eggs as he peeled them away from the napkin.

"You ain't bleeding inside or nothing are you? 'Cause I can get someone from the infirmary down here," James said as he looked him over.

"No point," Dean replied before he finished swallowing his first mouthful of cold eggs.

"If you got other needs, Pedro, he's got this nurse over there and she's got this damn fine ass. Ask him real nice and he might share."

"No I won't."

"You're cheating on her anyway, man," James countered.

"No I ain't. It's an open relationship."

"Then she's open to...what's up with you? Hero?"

Dean brought his eyes back into focus and looked up, surprised as he realized that James was talking to him. "What?"

"You okay, man? Looked like you were checking out on us."

"No..." Dean shook his head, a smirk touching his lips despite the sadness in his eyes. "You two just sound like brother."

The two men looked incredulously at each other and Dean chuckled to himself. What he wouldn't give to get in one last stupid, petty argument with Sam. The grim expression set back over his features and his eyes focused in on Pedro.

"So this stuff with my brother..."

"I'm all over it like white on rice," Pedro assured him. "I get a hold of Sammy, make him buy me dinner..."

"Dude! This is my brother we're talking about. I don't want you dating him. You go ahead and make him buy you a cheeseburger, pie and beer for me, but that's it. You so much as think about touching him and you're a dead man. I just want you to tell him what I said and give him the amulet."

"Hey, you're the one that called it the engagement ring."

"Look, I had a crappy night...I've had a lot of crappy nights. I got this thing going on, I can't lie and I said a bunch of stuff...he'll know what it means. He'll know I sent you."

"I still don't get what kind of brothers you two are."

"We're blood…more than that. He's all I got, all I've ever had. I just need him to be okay when I'm gone."

James gave him an approving nod. "You're a good brother, man."

"I tried. Too bad I screwed it all up...oh crap," Dean grumbled as he saw Henricksen and a couple of guards walking down the cellblock.

Dean shoveled the rest of his food down and quickly swallowed before the guards could think to take it away from him. If last night was any indicator, he'd be seeing those eggs again, but at least he had something heading towards his stomach for now.

"On your feet," one of the guards barked at him as they approached the cell door.

Without making a verbal reply, Dean tried to comply, but hadn't realized just how stiff he was. Before he could make another attempt around the cuffs, James was at his side, giving him the leverage he needed to get his feet under him. Dean met the man's eyes in silent gratitude and with the realization that it was probably the closest thing to a friendly face he was ever going to see again.

He glanced back to Pedro. "Like white on rice," the heavy man assured him almost under his breath.

Dean nodded before shuffling to the front of the cell and turning his attention to Henricksen while purposefully avoiding the eyes of the guards. "If it isn't Chief Deputy Samuel Gerard, which it isn't...."

"So you're Dr. Richard Kimble now?" Henricksen asked.

"That's what I wanted to say, but I can't actually say that so thanks."

One of the guards stepped forward and looked behind Dean towards James and Pedro. "Back it up boys," the guard said.

A moment later the cell door slid open. Dean remained standing where he was until the guard motioned for him to move. Briefly it wasn't the guards that Dean's distrustful eyes settled on. Henricksen had tilted his head and was looking way too closely at him. He held the man's stare, trying to sort out what he saw in the agent's eyes.

"You still going to tell me you don't deserve to be locked up?" Henricksen asked.

The tone was off compared to anything he'd heard from Henricksen before, it almost sounded like a legitimate question. Dean didn't know why the guy was asking. He didn't care either. It wasn't like it mattered what he thought he deserved. He was going to get what he got.

"I've done plenty of stuff, but not like you think. I'm not the monster." Curiosity got the better of him and he quirked a questioning brow to the agent. "Does it matter?"

"Not anymore. If you're doing this for your brother, I guess you're just an acceptable casualty."

"I think so."

"You honestly have no damn clue how deep the crap you're standing in is, do you?"

Dean shrugged as they made the slow walk down the corridor. "I thought something smelled funny...but I think it's this uniform," Dean replied with a crinkle of his nose, ignoring the twinge of pain that went through the muscles of his swollen face.

He finally risked an insubordinate glare towards one of the guards that he was all too intimately familiar with. It didn't matter whether or not he behaved. Either way they'd still stick it to him. He was too tired to fight physically, but his mouth still worked...sort of and he wasn't going to just follow along like the perfect little soldier after what these guys had done to him.

"These guys wanted to make sure I was squeaky clean, but couldn't manage to find a clean suit to stuff me in," Dean shot towards the guards.

"You keep your damn mouth shut unless you want another shower," the guard replied, roughly snatching the baggy collar of Dean's uniform and shoving him towards the wall.

Dean braced for the painful impact that never came. He opened his eyes to see that Henricksen had stepped in the way.

"You two can get a room later," Henricksen interrupted with an annoyed edge to his tone. He didn't have that look of amusement that the warden had. The agent's glare narrowed on the guard. "Just try and pretend to be a professional for the next two minutes."

Dean let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as the guard released him and took a step back. The guard's annoyed glare was now on Henricksen who was again looking at Dean.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Henricksen said. "I didn't think I'd be doing a transfer this morning, but you're still alive despite your own stupidity. You really are a cockroach aren't you?"

"I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I'm human."

Henricksen paused for a moment, before leaning towards him. "You're not as slick as you think. I can see straight through you. You're nothing without your brother. Face it Dean, you're scared."

"You're right and I'm freakin' terrified." That was the truth, but he flashed a dark grin despite it. "But I made my choice. There's nothing for me to do but hold on until the ride comes to a complete stop. Whatever you were hoping to get out of me about Sam, you can just forget. This'll all be nothing but a funny little joke when I'm burning in the pit, so do your worst, but don't expect me to lay around and cry about it."

"If I were you, I would. You have officially reached the end of the line. The ride's over and there aren't words for how many ways you're screwed."

-o-o-o-

Bobby impatiently looked up from the stack of old books opened in front of him as Sam set the phone aside. If it were Dean that he was staring at he would already know how the call had gone just by looking at him, that and the boy would be running his mouth about it good or bad. Sam he'd always found harder to read.

Without even realizing it, Sam was far better at disguising what he was feeling than his older brother was. Dean tried and failed to hide what was going on in his head, but Sam, he'd just go get so lost in thought that it was a hell of a thing to make out where the kid's mind was. Knowing that just made Bobby all the more concerned for Sam.

He knew what little pain he could see on the surface was just the tip of the iceberg and right now he could see worlds of hurt in those eyes. Sam was big on people talking out their feelings. It drove Bobby up the wall and he knew it did the same to Dean, but Sam meant well. The kid was just the analytical sort and was stuck on thinking any problem could be talked out. Bobby supposed it was healthier than Dean's take that any problem could be solved with a loaded pistol, but when it came to himself, at a certain point, Sam shut down and was about as tight-lipped as they came.

Even with the thoughtful mask Sam was wearing, it didn't take great powers of perception to tell that Sam was weary beyond words and it wasn't only because the boy hadn't slept the last couple of nights. Sam and Dean couldn't be more different, but they were basically two parts of the same person. Bobby knew for a fact that Dean couldn't hold it together without Sam and he was starting to wonder if long term Sam would really be able to hold on without Dean.

"Well?" Bobby finally asked when he had decided that Sam had been quiet long enough. "Do they got him?"

Sam ran a frustrated hand through his mess of hair. At least that answered Bobby's question of what kind of news to expect. "Dean wasn't taken to either of the state's maximum security prisons."

"It's the FBI. They could've moved him anywhere."

It was a hollow assurance, but it was the best Bobby could come up with at the moment. Sam obviously wasn't buying a word of it. The boy just shook his head.

"No extradition would have gone through overnight. He has to still be here somewhere."

Sam sighed tiredly, but Bobby could tell by watching the kid that it wasn't the sound of resignation, just determination settling in. The boy was nothing if not doggedly persistent. Just like his damn father. A second later Sam was back on the phone. Bobby watched the boy with concern for a few moments longer before returning to his notes.

They had already gotten a call back about the lab test on the syringe the demons had used on Dean. There was nothing but traces of saline to be found in it and Sam's frustration had steadily been rising since then. Bobby knew that the boy had wanted some firm answers, but the fact was that it was far more likely that the syringe had just been a carrying agent for something mystical that would never show up on any lab test.

Nothing about any of this was sitting right, but Bobby's concern for Dean was momentarily replaced by the need to throttle Sam as he heard who the kid was introducing himself as for his next phone call.

"This is Special Agent Johnson," Sam said, his eyes innocently avoiding the razor glare Bobby was sending him.

The FBI would know where Dean was all right, but they were also looking for Sam. The chances of them recognizing the boy from a thirty second phone call was far from likely, but they didn't have the room to be taking idiotic risks.

"I'm just trying to finish up some paperwork here on the fugitive Dean Winchester," Sam told the federal agents that were trying to hunt him down. "Uh yeah...paperwork sure is a bitch…I just need his current location. You're sure? Could you get me the number...great. Yeah, you too. Thanks."

"You stupid idget!" Bobby started in as soon as Sam had ended the call. "I thought we agreed no good would come of you joining Dean." Bobby might as well be talking to himself because by the distant look in the boy's eyes, Sam sure as hell wasn't listening.

"They took him to county. Camden."

Bobby straightened in his chair, a disbelieving look crossing his face. He pulled up his cap to scratch his fingers through his hair before turning back to Sam. "Let me get this straight...the FBI hauled their number one most wanted back across the state just so they could toss him in county?" Bobby shook his head to himself. "There ain't nothing right about that."

"I know, but maybe we can catch him there." Sam glanced down to the number he had scrolled down a minute ago and dialed again. "Hi, this is Officer Cowan. Checking in about one of your prisoners, Dean Winchester. My authorization? Uh..." Sam flashed a confused look to Bobby who held his hand out to take the phone from Sam. "Just a second, I'm going to turn you over to my supervisor."

"This is Captain Malley," Bobby said gruffly as soon as he had the phone to his ear. "We're straightening out some records on this case and we don't have all day to do it."

"Sir, I'm sorry, we don't appear to have you in our records," the woman on the other end of the phone replied after a moment.

"Then you need to straighten your records too. Sounds like an internal problem. I'm new to the position and I got a lot of cleaning up to do. I just need the prisoner status."

"The Winchester case is closed."

Bobby fell silent for a moment as he digested her answer. "How could the case be closed?"

A sickly feeling was already building in Bobby and Sam's anxious eyes weren't helping a damn thing.

"Dean Winchester died in custody last night."

The woman sounded bored and Bobby wanted to tell her just what kind of young man she was disregarding. The only reason he kept his mouth shut was because he felt like he'd just been stabbed in the gut. He could scarcely draw in air enough to breathe, let alone to shout. As numbness flooded over him he only barely managed to keep the phone in his grip.

He hadn't realized how long he had fallen silent until he saw that Sam was moving in and the woman on the other end of the line was trying to get his attention. "Sir, was there something else you needed?" the woman asked.

"You're sure you're looking at the records for Dean Winchester?" he asked, struggling to force his tone to remain professional.

He couldn't meet Sam's eyes, but even without directly looking at Sam he could see the boy already shaking his head in denial.

"Yes, sir. Dean Winchester died last night after a fight in his cell. Time of death was 10:34 PM. Would you like me to fax your office a copy of the death certificate?"

Bobby didn't reply. He couldn't have if he'd had to. After a moment he hung up and numbly tossed the phone aside. There'd be no service done by putting off the inevitable of facing the boy whose frantic eyes were locked on him. Sam already knew. It was written plainly across the kid's agonized face.

"It happened last night. Sam...I'm sorry. Your brother, he's..."

"No." Sam shot up in his chair before Bobby could finish his sentence. "No...they're lying."

"Kid, they got no reason to."

"Then they're just wrong. Dean...not like this, Bobby."

Without even meaning to, Sam was pleading with him to make it better. There was nothing Bobby wouldn't have given to make life bearable for both of these boys, but as Sam's shoulders slumped Bobby knew that Sam realized as well as him that there was no making this better. Bobby's heart twisted all the more painfully as the boy became the picture of defeat. Sam slumped down on the closest bed and moved his hands up to hold his head, using those long bangs of his to cover his eyes.

They remained in painful silence with only the sound of their unsteady breaths and the occasional slamming of doors elsewhere in the building. He could hear the traffic from the street and knew that no one else in this world had a damn clue what had just been lost. Leaving his chair behind, Bobby walked over to the window, back to the room.

"How...how'd it happen?" the boy behind him eventually asked with a frighteningly quiet, almost calculated tone.

Bobby couldn't force the words to come and just let the cold silence continue to hang in the air. This never should have happened. The boys were just supposed to check out some omens, keep their noses clean and call for help if things got rough. Then he was supposed to protect them. Instead Dean was dead. That the boy was gone was devastating enough, but that humans had beaten him to death was more than Bobby could bear.

It took every scrap of self-control Bobby possessed to just stand there with his fists clenched. He had half a mind to load up on shells and clean out that whole damn jailhouse himself. All the lives in their combined wouldn't amount to the one that had been lost, but it would be too little too late. He only wished he was surprised that this had happened, but honestly he wasn't, which just made him feel all the more responsible.

Dean had been running just short of suicidal since he'd cut his deal. With what Sam had said about his last conversation with his brother and the fact that Dean hadn't been able to stop running his mouth it had maybe just been inevitable. And that was why he should've been there. They never should've left that boy alone. It was just one of a hundred other self-blaming thoughts that were no doubt running through Sam's head too.

"Bobby, I need to know." The kid's voice almost cracked that time. Bobby couldn't look back at him, but Sam was owed his answer. "Was he shot trying to escape?"

He considered lying, and saying yes, knowing that it was the best option Sam could come up with under the circumstances. But he'd hesitated too long and Sam no doubt knew that it hadn't been anything so glorified.

"They jumped him in a cell..." Sam filled in, the words barely audible. "Who did it?"

"I don't know and it don't matter." Finally Bobby turned back to look at Sam whose head was still bowed to hide his eyes. "Knowing ain't gonna bring your brother back."

Sam's eyes had darkened by the time the boy' raised his head. Bobby knew that look all too well. He'd seen it in Dean's eyes scarcely two weeks earlier. "Where's his body?"

Bobby shook his head. "So help me, if you even think it..."

"Where is my brother, Bobby?" Sam demanded.

It was damn eerie how much of John Winchester laced the sharp tone of the punctuated words. All the same, the kid had another thing coming if he thought angry words were going to be enough to make him back down. The boy was a mere shadow of the rage his old man had possessed and Bobby had kicked John's ass on more than a couple of occasions. That was to say nothing of the fact that Sam wasn't the only one that had just gotten his gut ripped out.

Bobby had already made the mistake of letting this happen once. He sure as hell wasn't going to stand by and watch it happen again. Sam had already stood and taken a few steps towards Bobby. Without warning Bobby moved in to close the distance, grabbing the boy's shirt in his fists. Sam barely looked fazed, already lost somewhere far from this trashy motel room. Bobby shook him hard to try to pull him back.

"Dean is dead! You can't just go and bring him back."

Sam slapped his arms away. Bobby bit back a hiss of pain as the boy connected hard with his bandaged forearm. For a moment Sam's moisture rimmed eyes widened in silent apology, but the boy was on too much of a tear for it to bring him down as many notches as Bobby needed him to come.

"I died and he brought me back," Sam fired back a moment later. "He went to hell for me - I owe him everything!"

"Of course you do, he was your brother. Damn you Winchesters! Just where do you get off thinking you're above the laws of nature? Someone dies, they're supposed to stay dead!"

He realized the mistake in his words too late. Resignation settled over Sam's eyes and the boy shoved pass him. Without a word Sam returned to the table, grabbed his phone and computer and stuffed them in his duffel bag.

"Your really think I'm gonna let you throw yourself down the pit after your brother?"

Bobby could see the coiled tension in Sam's rigid shoulders, but the boy made no verbal reply. Instead Sam just tried to move back pass him. Bobby was already solidly positioned between Sam and the short hallway to the door. This time grabbed a firm hold of the boy's arm.

He looked up to meet the stubborn eyes that glared down on him. Suddenly he was keenly aware of just how big the kid had grown over the years. Sam might have the height advantage, but Bobby would take him down if it came to that. He'd be damned himself before he watched another Winchester go off and sell his soul.

-o-o-o-

The hollow feeling inside him hurt so bad that Sam barely even registered that it was Bobby he was staring down. It was just someone in the way of saving his brother. He had promised that he would get Dean out of this, that he wouldn't let him die alone in a prison cell or let him go to hell. Now he was being told that he'd failed on every account. He couldn't live with that.

"Let me go," Sam warned as he felt Bobby's grip tighten onto his bicep.

"Kid, you ain't thinking straight. What're you gonna do? March straight into hell and demand your brother back?"

"If that's what it takes. I'm going to fix this."

"There ain't no fixing this!"

Sam couldn't accept that. There was no way that he could believe that his brother was just gone. Until he was holding a lifeless body Dean was still out there and when he was holding that body he would find a way to put his brother back into it because his brother had done that for him.

Dean had given everything for him and never even realized that his life had counted for anything. There was so much about his brother that he had just learned in the last forty-eight hours and he had already hated himself enough for not having known. He was going to get Dean back and make this all right.

"We don't even know if he's really...I'm going to the coroners."

"Like hell you are, boy. You think the FBI just up and stopped looking for you?"

Sam was actually hopping that this was a trap. That the FBI had set this up to draw him out was the last hope that he had. In that scenario he could pretend that Dean was fine and the FBI just wanted him to think that his brother was dead. He'd happily hand himself over just to hear that this was nothing more than some kind of sick joke.

"We'll look for him," Bobby continued, "we'll find out for sure, but Sam..."

"Don't say it, Bobby. Not yet. I'm not giving up on him just because some stranger on a telephone told me to."

"Fair enough, but no running off. We do this together, you hear?"

Before he could answer, one of Sam's other phone began to ring. It was an emergency backup that they only ever used for emergencies and that one time Dean had considered the need for a beer run an emergency. Bobby released him and Sam threw his bag down on the bed. He tossed items out onto the bed and dug the vibrating phone out of the bottom of the bag. As he held the phone he shot an uncertain glance towards Bobby.

"Who has that number?" Bobby asked.

"Just Dean. He must've given it to Henricksen before...."

Sam refused to say it. He glanced at the number, which he didn't recognize before unsteadily putting the phone to his ear. His free hand wiped his cheeks dry of the tears he hadn't even realized had fallen, were still falling. He steeled himself for whoever might be on the other line.

"Sammy?"

His breath caught in his throat. Even though the voice was wrong, he was so desperate to hear Dean that for a moment he let himself believe that was who had spoken the annoying nickname he was never going to gripe about again. There was no way he could answer, too afraid to confirm that it wasn't his brother.

"Bitch, you damn lucky you answered." His brow creased at the unfamiliar deep voice with a heavy Hispanic accent. "I thought I'd have to spend weeks hunting your sasquatch ass and let me tell you, you'd be buying me way more than a cheeseburger, pie and beer if you know what I mean."

Sammy, bitch, sasquatch, cheeseburger, pie and beer. Sam held desperately to each word that made him think so much of Dean he thought his flipping stomach was going to betray him.

"Who is this?"

The man on the other end of the line was unfazed by Sam's threatening tone. "Hero's canton mate," came the easy reply. "I got something for you. Where you hiding?"

Bobby was watching Sam, silently demanding an explanation but Sam didn't have one to give, not yet. "Canton...who's Hero?" Sam asked.

"He's some loco mother. Pretty little thing fights like a rabid pit bull and says he's you're brother. Has some star ink on his chest. You with him or not?"

Sam latched on to the scrap of hope that he so desperately needed. A pretty crazed pit bull named Hero. Dean would kill the guy if he'd heard himself described like that, but Sam instantly recognized the visual as a match for his brother. He could only assume that the 'star ink' was referring to Dean's demon protection tattoo.

"You've seen Dean?" Sam shot a hopeful look to Bobby. "When?"

"Dean, yeah, that's him. Guards and some black pendejo in a suit took him off just before I got gated out this morning. Hero called him Deputy Gerard, that's the one that took him."

"This morning?"

The relief came so hard and fast it almost hurt. Bobby had told him that Dean died last night. Either the woman from county had been lying or this guy on the phone now was. Given his options, Sam was siding with the guy on the phone being the truthful one. He was all the more convinced of that when he stopped to consider the name of the agent that the man said had taken Dean.

"Gerard...the US Marshall from The Fugitive?" A smile came to Sam's lips. This really was Dean they were talking about.

"You ask too many questions. I like Hero better. He's crazy, but he don't ask no questions. I ain't supposed to be talking to you on the phone. Gotta drink some holy water or something first...anyone ever tell you your brother's crazy?"

"It's come up," Sam replied. He barely even knew what he was saying, still lost in a haze of cautious relief.

"I don't care," the man replied. "He's good people. I'm in Camden and I'm hungry. You come get me. I don't got no car, but I do got this funky necklace thing."

"Necklace...is it an amulet?"

"It's just a face with some horns. Hero said it wasn't really gold, but I don't know...looks kinda real to me. It's supposed to be your engagement ring."

Sam's brow furrowed for a moment before he squeezed his eyes closed. Whoever this guy was Dean had given him his amulet and had told him about the conversation they'd had the other night. It was solid confirmation not only that this guy had been with Dean but that he wasn't going to like what the man had to say. There was only one reason Dean would have passed on that necklace. Like it or not, the guy on the other end of the line was the closest thing to lead on his brother. The guy was someone telling him that Dean was still alive and that there was still time to fix this.


End file.
